A Shining Star
by C. Selene Belle
Summary: Sequel to Chances. Three years after PQL was destroyed, things are being rebuilt - and a fateful introduction to a teenage girl could make or break Al and Sam's friendship.
1. Day by Day

star1.html A Shining Star for a Lonely Heart   
By C. Selene Belyea 

Chapter 1 

Rebuilding Project Quantum Leap from the ground up was certainly not a simple task. Miraculously and for the very first time, the congressional committee actually sympathized with the project. Since it was finally proven to them that time travel was in fact possible, they obviously must have seen the opportunity for the future. But the grant that was allocated to Dr. Sam Beckett for the project was only half of what Sam expected. Amazingly, neither he nor his partner, Admiral Al Calavicci, were upset by this. It was, after all, much better than nothing at all. 

So, by using the funds that the committee granted them for rebuilding and putting that together with some funding left over from before, Sam and the rest of the PQL staff were able to reconstruct a new project compound. They had to clear out the old location, the same cavern in Stallion's Gate, NM, since it would have taken more time and funds to start in a new one.   
During rebuilding, everyone on the staff had found new places to live that weren't on location. Everyone, including Sam and Al figured it would be much safer that way. It was a miracle that there were no casualties from the explosion that had destroyed the initial site in the first place. Most of the junior staff found apartments in the near by city of Alamogordo. The rest found small housing conveniently located in the suburb of Stallion Springs, only a few miles away from PQL. 

The three years went by very quickly as PQL was being reconstructed. The walls were up, the electricity worked, the new hybrid computer built but programming was still under way. All the conveniences and luxuries of the previous project had to be sacrificed to increase security and update the technology. 

Now the only thing holding everyone back was learning all the new technology that came out in the past few years. Catching up to all the new capabilities of current state-of-art computer hardware and software was still a frustrating task for the staff. Especially for Sam and Al. Not only was it daunting but it also made them feel old. Much in the same way that people had once felt when they traded in their manual typewriters for a word processor. 

Professionally Sam and Al were able to overcome the humiliation that came with learning the new technology. This for the sake of putting the project back together. Personally, their friendship drifted further apart as time went by. It didn't help Al's dignity when he had to watch his best friend enjoying a family and a "full" life from the wheelchair that Al was confined to. To Al, it was as though his paraplegia was a lifetime sentence to loneliness. 

No one on the project staff seemed to be helping either. Verbena Beeks, the project psychiatrist, treated him like a patient more than a friend, turning all his questions around to, "What do you think, Admiral?". Dr. Gushie Crosnolf tried to ignore him every time they happened to run into each other, sometimes literally. The rest of the staff were just plain uncomfortable around him. So much that they managed to be over compliant to the point of showing pity or completely forgetful by Al's intimidating bitterness. That still hadn't changed much at all in three years time. 

********************** 

Stallion Springs   
February 18, 2003   


It was evening by the time Al Calavicci arrived home after a typical day at PQL. Home was very differently decorated compared to the apartment he lived in three years before. Living in Stallion Springs since the destruction of the original Project has shifted his tastes in interior decoration. That, and one incident involving Donna's desperate attempt to cheer him up. Though the inside of his home was under furnished and lightly decorated with a Southwestern style, it was thankfully not as drab as the military gray theme Al had once used in his living quarters of PQL before moving out to the suburbs. All superficial traces of his military decor had disappeared with the request for his resignation from the service. The excuse the brains at the pentagon mentioned was that his disability made him incapable of carrying out the duties his rank required of him. 

Parking his customized forest-green Camery in the drive way of his little house, he pulled out his wheelchair from the back seat, transferred into it and closed the car door. Originally, the house he'd bought had steps to get to the front door. He'd long since modified the steps into a ramp but every time he'd used the darned thing, he couldn't help but be reminded of what he wouldn't be able to do for the rest of his life. 

Back when the whole thing started, he'd been borrowing a wheelchair from the hospital, thinking the paralysis was temporary and would eventually go away. A few months after that, he was forced to buy one of his own and though it was sporty looking, with a black frame, slanted wheels, and a low cut back, it meant that it was permanent. 

As he approached his front door, he picked up the mail from the mail box next to the door when the phone began to ring. Quickly opening the door, he briefly wondered who on Earth would want to call him. Due to his anti-social manner, he was usually left alone. And Donna knew better than to call before visiting because Al would most likely talk her out of even coming over. 

Closing the door behind him and throwing his scarce mail onto a small table by the door, the phone rang two or three more times before Al picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Good evening!" came an overly cheerful female voice from the other end, "I'm Laurie Shannon from the DCS in New York City." 

"Don't tell me," he said cynically, "I might have already won 10 million dollars and a brand new car, right? Well, thanks but no thanks." He hung up before he even gave her the chance to explain herself. He barely got three feet away from the phone before it rang again. He sighed and picked up the receiver up once more. 

"Please, don't hang up!" Said the woman. "This is official business and I'm not selling anything." 

Curious, Al exhaled and said, "Okay, I'm listening." 

"Is this Admiral Albert Calavicci I'm speaking to?" 

"Retired. Now, what do you want?" Al was beginning to grow a little impatient with this person. But then again, he felt that way with everyone which is mainly why no one bothers calling him anymore. 

"As I've mentioned before, my name is Laurie Shannon and I'm with the DCS in New York." 

"Would you mind explaining what the DCS is?" he asked impatiently. 

"Department of Children's Services. I have a few questions to ask you if you have the time." 

"Alright. Shoot." 

"Are you the brother of Catherine Lee Amorello?" 

"No, I'm not. Sorry to waste your time . . ." But before he could hang up again, Ms. Shannon quickly got out another question that caught his attention. 

"Are you the son of Katrina Rimsky?" 

He paused. "What did you say?" he asked slowly. 

Knowing that she had his attention now, she continued carefully, "Was she your mother?" 

"Yeah, what's it to you?" 

"Katrina Rimsky Stevens was also the mother of one Catherine Amorello. I'm assuming you are not aware this woman was your half-sister." 

"Why do you keep using the word 'was'?" 

"I'm sorry to report that Mrs. Amorello was murdered some four weeks ago and we have been trying to locate her nearest living relative." 

He replied bitterly, "Well, I'm sure my mother would fit that description perfectly." 

"I'm afraid your mother passed away some five years ago." 

He felt more shock than sorrow from the news and said nothing. 

"I'm sorry for being the barer of such bad news about two members of your family in one phone call . . ." 

"So, where does Children's Services come into this?" Al interrupted, ignoring the woman's sympathy, "I'd expect a call from a probate lawyer instead." 

"Mrs. Amorello had a daughter, your niece. We've been trying to locate relatives before resorting to the next step which would be foster care." 

"So, where's her father?" 

"In the New York State penitentiary serving 20 to life for the murder of Catherine Lee Amorello." 

He froze, trying to comprehend all the misfortunes at once. He wasn't stupid and Al knew exactly where this was leading up to. He decided to cut to the chase. "So what's the kid's name?" 

Knowing that just by asking the child's name was a sign she was looking for, Shannon smiled slightly, "Her name is Carlie." 

-----------------------------   
  



	2. Meetings

star2.html Chapter 2 

Alamogordo Airport   
One week later   
1:37 PM 

Waiting for the connecting flight from Albuquerque to Alamogordo, Al paced as well as he could, given the limitations of his wheelchair. He awaited the arrival of Laurie Shannon, the social worker from the DCS in New York. Traveling along with her was the niece Al didn't know he had until a week ago. 

During the last minutes of the phone call from Ms. Shannon they had made an agreement to meet in a neutral location. The restaurant in the airport seemed neutral enough for the introductions to take place. 

He glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time. The flight was delayed by seven minutes and he was already starting to worry. Soon thereafter, the announcement came over the public address system that flight #187 from Albuquerque to Alamogordo was now arriving at gate eleven. 

Desperately trying to hide his nervousness as dozens of people began disembark from gate eleven, he held still for the first time since arriving at the airport. The excitement of it all caused him to forget the fact that he had no way of identifying the right person as Ms. Shannon when a woman with flaming red curly hair approached him. 

"Admiral Calavicci?" She asked Al, offering her hand for a friendly greeting which Al did not return. 

Keeping his hands gripped on the rims of his wheels, he responded, "Yeah, and you're Shannon, right?" He was briefly surprised how quickly she recognized him, completely oblivious of the fact that he was probably one of the few people in the entire airport in a wheelchair. He looked around, "Where's the kid?" 

She lowered her hand, blushing slightly and answered, "She's still on the plane getting the rest of her things." She glanced around the terminal, "We can meet you at that restaurant over there." 

Al looked behind him and saw that the social worker indicated a quaint little place called Ray's Cafe. He nodded and agreed to reserve a table for them. 

While he did so, Al could hardly contain the excitement. He wanted to see what the girl looked like. He couldn't help but expect too much from this initial meeting. He had wanted a family for so long and now he had the chance to start one.   
The hostess showed him to a table in the corner, moving the chair out of the way since he had his own already. Sipping at a cup of coffee, he waited for a good ten minutes like an expectant father with a wife in labor. 

Ms. Shannon finally entered the restaurant and was accompanied by a young girl with an empty looking backpack slung over her shoulder. She was pretty and also not very tall. Must run in the family, Al thought humorously to himself. The social worker quickly spotted him behind the table and motioned for the girl along with her to follow. 

The teen was hesitant but knew better than to disobey the simplest request. Ms. Shannon approached Al, the girl whom he assumed was Carlie following shyly behind her. 

"Admiral," began the cheerful social worker, "I'd like you to meet Carlie Amorello. Carlie," She turned to the girl, "This is Admiral Al Calavicci." 

Mentally rolling his eyes from the elaborate detail Laurie Shannon used in his introduction, he pushed the thought aside as quickly as he offered his hand to Carlie. 

"Hello, Carlie." Al greeted as cheerfully as he could. Carlie didn't move but simply stared at his hand. 

"Yeah, hi." she said softly in reply. By the way of how embarrassed he looked when he lowered his hand, Carlie figured he had the biggest ego this side of the U.S. And, she thought sourly, most people would stand up when someone introduces themselves. She studied his face briefly and noticed that the guy didn't know weather he should be scared or content. 

"Well, I have to go get the rest of Carlie's luggage and make a phone call." Said the social worker, knowing that any conversation that happened would make her extraneous. She also wanted to give them their privacy. "I'll be right back." They watched her leave. 

"Please," Al said to Carlie, pointing to the chair in front of him, "Have a seat." 

The young girl did, growing uncomfortable from the pack on her shoulders and graciously set it down next to her seat. Al could automatically tell that she didn't want to be there at all. It showed in her sad dark blue eyes. For the first time in three years, he felt his heart. It wanted to reach out to her, knowing the pain that she must have gone through. Unfortunately, given the circumstances, he would have to wait until she allowed him to do just so. 

For the time being, Al thought it would be a good idea to at least get to know one another before going to the next step: home.   
He began with the only question he could think of at that moment. "So, how was your flight?" Carlie shrugged, not wanting to make eye contact with the strange man. This didn't help Al's situation much. Now he had to think of something else to ask because he knew that was about all the answer he was going to get out of the teenager. "Must be a long flight from Brooklyn to here. Are you tired?" 

Another shrug in addition to a stifled yawn. It made Al smile a bit, reminded of himself by her actions. She didn't want to let him know that she was tired. Or whatever else she might be feeling. Which was, in fact, perfectly normal and Al understood this. 

"Ah." He growled softly in understanding. He decided to give a conversation one more try. "How old are you now?" 

"Fifteen." Carlie answered. Al mentally patted himself on the back for finally getting her to talk. But something happened at that moment that he wasn't prepared for. Carlie, laying down her head on the table and burying her face against her forearms, had begun to cry silently. 

Al panicked. He didn't know how to deal with a little girl, especially when she was crying. He desperately searched for an answer to the problem. Then, very hesitantly, he raised his hand, stopping in mid-air, not sure if what he was about to do was right. Sighing, he went through with his action after all and slowly stroked the girl's hair. What amazed and relieved him was that she didn't make a move to pull away. So he continued his soothing hair-stroking, hoping it would diminish the child's tears. 

"I know that what you must be going through is tough." He began, keeping a concerned gaze on Carlie. "It's not easy being fifteen and losing your mom like you did. And I just want you to know that it's okay to cry." 

"I'm not crying." She said, her voice shaky with emotion. It was an obvious lie but she was trying so hard to make it seem like the truth. After all, she was losing her control of her emotions in front of a complete stranger. 

In spite of himself, Al let out a soft chuckle, mainly because the lie reminded him so much of himself at her age. "Right. You're not crying and I'm not in a wheelchair. But we can work on honesty a little later." 

Something made her come to her senses, jerking her head up and looking directly at him for the first time. "What did you say?" 

He shrugged. "We can work on being honest a little later?" 

Quickly wiping away the streaks of tears and with a determined look on her face, she stood and moved around the table to see the man in full view. Her eyes widened a bit, the wheelchair he sat in being the confirmation of her fears. "What the hell is this supposed to be?" Carlie asked in an incredulous tone. 

"You mean you didn't know?" He couldn't believe that the DCS would keep something like his paraplegia from her until the last minute. Al had hoped he wouldn't scare her but that's obviously what he had done. He had also been hoping that she already knew about his disability but that didn't seem like the case and he cursed the DCS for failing to tell her. 

Her voice was dangerously low when she said, "No one said anything about living with a crip." And with that, she picked up her pack and marched out of the restaurant. 

Al wasn't used to being around younger people. Especially those who were just starting out in the world. He had argued over the phone with Ms. Shannon that he was too old to be taking in orphans. But since he'd gone through with the meeting after all, he knew his responsibility and he wasn't prepared for the girl's reaction to him. For the first time since his accident, he felt hurt. An unusual pitfall for a retired Admiral in the Navy. 

Throwing some cash on the table, he followed her in his chair and called after her retreating form, "Carlie. Carlie, wait. I...." but helplessly watched her disappear into the ladies room in the airport terminal without getting so much as even a glance behind her shoulder. Hitting the wheels of his chair in frustration, he hissed to himself. "Damn it. How could she not know?" 

As he waited outside, a young man, about twenty or twenty two years old, walked passed him and stared. Al didn't have time for this. 

"You got some kind of problem?" Al asked bluntly, "You think I need you to stare at me?" The man walked on, paying him no mind. With a heavy sigh, Al threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "This is great. Just great." 

Ms. Shannon finally showed up, carrying a fairly large suitcase and was about to enter the cafe if Al hadn't flagged her down in time. "Over here, Shannon." He called, barking at her just when she was close enough to here what he had to say. "Carlie is inside and I think she's upset. No one bothered to tell her I was a paraplegic. Did any of the brain trust at social services think that could be important to her?" He was very angry. 

Ms. Shannon shrugged, "I just figured everybody knew." 

Al was about to explode. "Ah, three years and an entire continent away from a kid who was two busy dodging her father's fists to pick up the God damn New York Times! Geez, she's a kid for Christ's sake!" 

The social worker felt very bad. She knows she should have known better but even at her age, her naiveté was still a slight problem. "I'll go see if she's okay." She said quietly, leaving the suitcase with Al and entering the ladies room. 

It was very sterile looking and very white. The light reflected off the white tile walls contrasted with the sunlit corridors of the airport terminals and the difference was enough to make Ms. Shannon wince for a second. She thanked God that it wasn't a very busy airport and there weren't any people in the restroom. Quiet sobs could be heard quite clearly from one of the stalls and the social worker knew it had to be Carlie. 

"Carlie?" Shannon said slowly as she approached the stall, "Carlie, honey. Your uncle thinks your upset because he's paralyzed. Is that true?" 

The girl on the other side of the stall door tightly scrunched up her face in a failing attempt to stop the humiliating emotions falling from her eyes like buckets. It didn't do any good. She just couldn't stop herself from crying. 

"He can't be my uncle." Carlie sobbed, leaning up against the stall's wall, "He's a freak. I'm not going to live with a freak." 

For once, Ms. Shannon thought about what she was going to say before she said it. Carefully thinking about her next statement, she said, "Carlie, your uncle is a good, kind man. We know that for a fact. We would never place you with someone whom we think would harm you. And I'm sorry to tell you this but other than your parents, he's your only other living relative." 

"But . . . but why is he in that . . . that thing?!" The girl argued, taking a wad of toilet paper and blowing her nose. 

Ms. Shannon knew the answer even though it was still a depressing subject. Her answer, though, was kept brief yet intelligent. "That's a very important question, Carlie. But it's one that you should ask him, not me." 

Regaining some of her composure back, she wiped away the last of the tears. "I don't want to talk to him. I just want to be left alone. I can take care of myself, you know." 

"That may be true, sweetie, but it's not up to us. The law says that you have to have at least a guardian or foster home until your 18, when you become a legal adult. That's three years away." She paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction from the teenager. When there was none, only sniffles, she continued, "Now, we know you're a smart girl. I can't leave you in here so you'll have to come out sometime." 

With a final resolve, Carlie slowly unlocked the stall door and stepped out, her empty-yet-not-so-empty looking backpack still slung over her right shoulder. The social worker smiled at Carlie's quick decision. "Good. Now are you ready to give him a chance?" 

"Do I even have a choice?" Asked the teenager bitterly, knowing the answer but needing verbal confirmation. 

"I guess you don't right now, but it's up to you if this works or not." She held out a business card to her. "I told you I'd give you my phone numbers. Here they are. I want you to call me anytime. Night or day. Even at three in the morning, okay?" 

The young girl took the card, examining it half-heartedly, and nodded before shoving it into her back jean pocket. Putting a gentle arm across her shoulders, Ms. Shannon led Carlie back out into the airport corridor where Al had been left to wait. She picked up the suitcase where she had last left it. 

Al was near the window just in front of the ladies room, watching the planes outside and didn't hear the two approach him until Shannon spoke. 

"Admiral." She said. He turned his light weight chair around and she smiled a bit. "We're back." 

Al didn't return the smile, clearly still upset with her not telling Carlie everything about him, especially something so important as his inability to walk. 

"Good," he told the social worker, "I guess we got off on the wrong foot." Carlie visibly cringed at his use of the phrase. He looked up at his niece, knowing how uncomfortable she must be at that moment. "You going to start talking to me anytime soon?" 

Carlie looked away and shrugged. 

Somehow, Al knew what was going on through her mind and understood it perfectly. "Yeah, well. I guess there's a lot to get used to here - for the both of us." He looked towards Ms. Shannon, his tone making it very clear that he was still not happy with her. "Do we need you for anything else? Because if we don't, I'd like to take Carlie home." 

"Oh. Sure." The woman put the suitcase down. "Can you get this to your car?" The statement made Carlie think for a moment. Can people who couldn't walk drive? 

Al's bitter tone hadn't changed. "We'll work it out. So long and thanks for everything you didn't do." 

Without responding to his crack, Ms. Shannon hugged Carlie one last time. "Be brave, Carlie, and give him a chance." She whispered. Pulling away, the woman gently touched the girl's shoulder for one last reassurance before heading back to the terminal. Carlie didn't want her to go, but she knew she had no choice in that matter. She was left to face another obstacle in her life and she really didn't feel like handling it. How can they force her to live with someone who couldn't even walk? 

Al watched Shannon walk away then turned his attention back to his niece, whom was still watching the woman go. He sighed. "Okay, throw your stuff on my lap and push us toward the exit." It had only been three years since he became a paraplegic and in more common cases, it takes longer than that to adjust to it. Therapists were surprised by Al's quick rehabilitation and couldn't explain it. They didn't know Al too well anyway, not well enough to know that he takes what life dishes out to him and deals with it. 

Carlie, on the other hand, might have been an exact duplicate of him, right down to his same curly hair (though her eyes were more of a blue-gray color which wasn't a Calavicci trait) but she was still young. Al knew she *could* deal with it, she just didn't want to. 

"I can carry my own stuff." She replied stiffly, picking up the suitcase. It was heavier than she expected and under different circumstances she probably would have asked for help. She wasn't about to let some crippled old man touch *her* suitcase.   
Al really didn't have a problem with her answer. Putting on some weight-lifter's gloves, he said casually, "Fine. The car's right in front." 

The unusual duo got the suitcase in the car and had a brief argument on Carlie's decision about sitting in the back instead of the front seat of Al's Camery. 

"I haven't been a cabby in decades," he had told her, "so you can ride up front. Whenever your up here and buckled in, we can go." The girl had hesitated but didn't want trouble so she ended up sitting beside *him* in the front seat of his car.   
He was trying to be very nice to the girl. Now knowing that she really didn't want to have anything to do with him, Al thought he made a good choice by *not* buying a teddy bear for her arrival. In the car, which he hadn't started, he offered her a book to read for the long drive but she turned it down and sneered at it. 

"Looks stupid." She said with a scowl, tossing it on the floor by her feet. 

Al just about had it. "What does? The book? My legs? Or the way your acting?" 

Carlie countered his statement and narrowed her eyes. "Shut the hell up, old man." 

When it came to being a Calavicci, arguments never really got violent (just really loud) and Al knew this to be in Carlie's personality too. After all, she was related to him. Al just laughed slightly at her come back. 

"I'd better let you know right now, kid. If you think you can get the upper hand, then you're wrong. I want this to work between you and me because I think we're two peas from the same pod. I know every move you're going to make because   
I've already made them. So, if you need to be mad as hell right now, go ahead and do it. Be as damn mad as you can. It's not anything I haven't seen or done before myself." 

With that finally said, he started the car and backed out of the parking space. The airport was at the very edge of the city of Alamogordo and the desert highway that led to Stallion Springs wasn't far from that. Carlie had stubbornly crossed her arms and stared out into the desert. 

"Finished?" She asked curtly. 

"That's up to you." Al answered, even though she meant it as a rhetorical question. "It's all up to you." 

"It's always up to me." Her tone suggested that she didn't like the idea at all. She wasn't comfortable sitting next to this . . . 

*What do they call them?*, She thought. *Something that starts with para.* She huffed a bit at the idea that she was probably one of the few her age that even knew *that* much, since she never really had any respect for the intelligence of the rest of her generation. 

"I can't argue that." Al told her, "Bottom line is that it *is* always up to you. You choose whether or not something will work." *And I really want this to work between you and me.* 

For years, though Al liked his independence, another part of him so desperately wanted a family. Al had once considered Sam his family but the accident seemed to have changed that. The Becketts, especially Donna and Johnny, will always be his family and he still hoped for a reconciliation with Sam. But now that he had his chance for a real family, flesh and blood, he wasn't about to let it slip away so easily. 

At the same time, Carlie longed for her own independence, thinking that was all she needed to get by. She didn't need anybody, or anything, especially love and affection - or so she thought. Al knew better than that and when it came to those matters, he can be very patient indeed.   
-------------------- 


	3. Adjustments

star3.html   
Chapter 3 

Desert sunsets in Stallion Springs were beautiful sights to see indeed. The warm red-orange sphere would sink down into the horizon while at the same time stars begin to appear in the darkening sky, giving off their soft comforting glow. 

Donna Beckett stood out on the patio of the adobe-style home she shared with a husband and three year old son, feeling the last warm light of the day on her bare arms and face, smiling contentedly and eyes closed. A light desert breeze blew across the sands of the Mojave and fluttered Donna's floral print dress. 

Sam hadn't come home yet. Saturday evening and the man was still working. But could Donna blame him at all? He lost almost everything from the explosion three years ago. He was simply working doubly hard at getting it back on track. But being the loving wife, she knew there was more to it. It was his way to get his mind off things. Getting his mind off of what happened to Al. Did a guilt trip really last for three years? Will it last longer still? 

Everyone has already tried to convince the physicist that it was not his fault that Al got hurt. But being as stubborn as his father and the epitome of a boy scout, Sam kept insisting to himself that something could have been done to prevent the incident. But not just some thing. Something he himself should have done differently. It happened during a heated argument over something much deeper than the issue. How could he have possibly seen the guy with a gun? Why didn't the alarms go off early? Ziggy should have been monitoring the situation before it happened. Why didn't the confounded hybrid computer warn them? 

Too many questions. All of them were each the center of argument between Sam and Donna over the course of three years. It looked as if tonight would be another opportunity for a fight. Sam had promised his little boy that the two of them would spend the entire Saturday together. The child was three years old but with a brain that could comprehend young adult novels.   
Another Beckett prodigy which Sam had little time to pride himself of. Donna wasn't going to let him off easy tonight. 

She heard Sam's jeep pull up in their drive way from outside and turned at the sound. She looked at her watch. Seven thirty. Pursing her lips, she marched inside their small adobe-style home and opened the front door just in time to see Sam hopping out of the driver's seat and carrying a worn brown-colored briefcase. He smiled when he saw her, clumsily shifting the briefcase from one hand to the other as he approached. She returned only an angry frown. 

"Where the hell have you been all day, Sam?" 

He pulled off his sunglasses as he climbed the three steps leading up to the doorway where Donna stood. "I've been working, honey. I told you something came up and I had to leave." 

He brushed passed her, walking into their living room. She followed, slamming the door behind her. "You were supposed to take your son out today. You remember him? About two and half feet tall, brown hair, green eyes. Goes by the name of John Beckett." 

Sam set his briefcase down next to the couch against the front wall. He continued towards the kitchen, opening the refrigerator as he spoke. "Are you upset?" 

Donna's face nearly turned red. "Actually, I was upset three hours ago." 

The absent minded physicist still scanned the refrigerator for something to his liking. "Oh, good. What's for dinner?"   
"Now I'm furious!" She forcefully slammed the refrigerator's door, catching one of Sam's fingers as he pulled out of the way. He yelped in pain. 

"What's with you and slamming doors today? What's wrong?" 

"You don't have any idea what's wrong! That's what. Our little boy has been in his room all day, crying his eyes out because his father broke his promise to him. Again!" 

Donna's yelling was heard from the other side of the house where Johnny's room was. The three-year-old waddled out to the kitchen where his parents were arguing again. "Mommy?" He said in his tiny voice. 

The child's interruption was enough to obtain silence from both adults. Both Donna and Sam turned their gaze towards him. 

Sam took two steps toward the toddler. "Johnny, I..." 

"Come on, Johnny." Donna put in quickly, picking the boy up and carrying him back into his room. "You're going to spend the night at Uncle Al's." 

The statement quickly caught Sam's attention, having no choice but to follow her to defend himself. "What did you say? You can't be serious." His wife had already gotten a small dinosaur duffel bag, stuffing Johnny's small sized clothes in it as he spoke. 

"I am very serious, Sam. And until you straighten up your act, he's going to stay there." She went back to John's dresser to pick out more clothes. The boy went back to the duffel bag on his bed with an armful of toys. 

"Straighten up what act? I had to work! What was I supposed to do?" Sam argued. Donna slammed her hands down on the dresser. 

"That project can run itself for one day, Sam! You owe it to John to spend a little time with him." Grabbing another pair of jeans and some striped shirts, she stomped back over to bed covered in dinosaurs just in time to catch her son pulling out all of the clothes from the bag and stuffing it with toys instead. Donna promptly put back all of the clothes in place of the toys once more. 

"So, I'm here now. Hey, Johnny, what do you say we play a game?" 

The boy protested outwardly and quite bluntly. "But I wanna go to Unca Al's!" His mother punctuated the statement as she zipped up the bag and picked the boy up once more, headed for the front door. 

Sam followed her in one last desperate attempt to change her mind. The odds weren't looking good in his case. "Donna you can't take him over there! John could get hurt....." He immediately regretted what he had said. But what was said couldn't be taken back. It hurt. How could he say that about his best friend? The man was a paraplegic, not a serial killer. But in Sam's mind, that was exactly the problem. 

The door was open and she was ready to step out when what Sam had said finally sunk in. She turned to him, narrowing her eyes, her voice dangerously low. "For the passed three years," she began slowly and steadily, "Al has been more of a father to John than you have."   
  


Carlie had locked herself up in "her" room since they arrived at Al's home. She looked around the four walls with a look on her face that would make someone think she was about to puke. The room was covered in dinosaurs. The _bed_ was covered in dinosaurs. What? Was the guy expecting a boy and got a girl instead? But besides the wallpaper and bed sheets being adorned with prehistoric reptiles, the room lacked any other furnishings. A small wooden night table stood on the right side of the bed. On it was a stegosaurus lamp which put a look of disgust on Carlie's face. 

She hated dinosaurs. The Crip was expecting her to sleep here!? Just looking at it was enough to make her decide for certain that she wasn't going to stay there. Whether she was eighteen or not Carlie was determined to leave the place as soon as she could. But she wasn't stupid. She knew she'd have to be prepared with clothes, food, money. If she was lucky, she may be able to get her hands on a vehicle. A friend of hers back in Brooklyn taught her how to ride a motorcycle. All she had to do was go peeking around the neighborhood. 

Until the time came to bolt for freedom, though, the meantime would have to be spent in a cripple's home. With a heavy sigh, she opened up her backpack revealing a comp book and a laptop computer. She reached for the comp book and a pen in a smaller compartment on the pack and started writing. 

After a few paragraphs were written on the college ruled paper, a soft knock on her bedroom door made her look up from her book before realizing who it was on the other side. She kept writing. 

"Carlie, listen." Said the gravel-voiced admiral. "Dinner's ready if your hungry. You can come out when your ready to."   
Her face remained stoic as she continued writing in her comp book, sitting Indian style on the bed decorated with pictures of ancient thunder lizards. 

Al waited for an answer and noticed that she wasn't going to do such a ridiculous thing as that. After a brief moment he added, "You know, a simple 'thank you' or 'no, thank you' would suffice." She still said nothing in reply. "Would you give me some sign of life in there so I don't have to call the paramedics?" 

She slapped her pen in her lap and yelled, "Go to hell!" 

Al rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, "Cute." He got what he asked for. A reply. That was about as far as it was going to go. He understood, so he left her alone.   
  


Donna pulled her mini van up into Al's driveway, two streets away from the Beckett home, and parked next to the Admiral's car. Johnny was squirming in the back seat as she made her way around the car to open the sliding door. She unbuckled him from the child seat, gathered her son and the duffel bag in her arms and hurried to the door. She adjusted her hold on the toddler to clutch both him and the bag with the same hand and arm and knocked repeatedly with her free hand. 

Al's muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Okay, okay. I'm coming. Hold your horses." He swung open the door and a small grin spread on his face. "Donna. And Johnny. What a ....." but before he could say anything else, the kid landed in his arms. It's not as if Al minded. The grin turned into a smile as he looked into the little one's hazel eyes. "How ya doin', kiddo?" 

Johnny wiggled excitedly on his uncle's lap, clapping his hands. "Unca Al!" 

"I need you to do me a favor, Al." Donna said. 

Al looked at her knowingly and shook his head. "Another favor, huh? 

That's the third time in the same month. I'm starting to worry about you two." 

Donna forced a smile, rubbing away the goose bumps on her arms that had more to do with just the evening desert chill. "Yeah," she whispered, "I know. It'll have to be for a few more days this time though, Al. I've got to get through to him." 

Johnny had managed to squirm out of Al's arms and onto the floor to go into his second bedroom. Al let him go, giving Donna his attention. "He'll come around. He's got to one of these days. Your husband can be worse than me sometimes." 

He attempted a smile for her reassurance but the look she gave him wiped it right off his face. "Hey, sugar," he gently took her hand and patted it, "don't worry. Things'll work out." 

The physicist's wife let out a shaky breath and nodded. "I hope so." 

Suddenly, Johnny screamed and came running back to where Al and Donna were, panting, "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" He hugged her leg tightly, hiding his face in her dress. 

Carlie soon followed, arms straight down her sides and her footsteps loudly made as she came into the living room. "Where the hell did the runt come from? I thought you......" She looked to see Donna standing in the doorway, the blonde-haired three-year-old grasping the woman's leg with a death grip. "Who's the skirt?" 

Al turned his chair to face her, raising an eyebrow in annoyance to Carlie's choice in words. "Finally decided to talk, huh?" Carlie gave him a look. "Can it." 

Al grinned again. "This is Donna Beckett. She's a friend of mine. The kid's her son, John." 

Donna was as equally surprised as Carlie was. She squinted her eyes at Al and furrowed her brow. "'Who's the skirt?'" 

The girl approached Donna with a look of defiance on her face. "Yeah, you know. The babe. Betty. Broad. Chick. Dame. Dish." She said each nickname with a snap of her fingers and an exaggeration of her Brooklyn accent. 

"Carlie!" 

She ignored Al and pointed at Donna confidently. "In this case: You." 

By this time, Donna had definitely determined that the girl was a teenager. But that didn't stop the flush of anger she felt warm her cheeks. "Young lady, I don't know who you think you are but I believe I deserve a little respect." 

"No kidding!" Al added, then said to Donna. "I apologize for my niece. She just arrived from New York today and....." 

"Your niece?" 

"Yeah. Didn't I tell you?" 

"Ever hear of a phone? You pick it up and use it." 

"Well, it turned out that....." 

But Donna interrupted with a cut off sign in the air. "No, not now. I've got to go. I hate to leave Johnny here if you have company," she pried her son from her leg and set him back down on Al's lap, "but I don't want him around with me and Sam fighting again. You understand. Oh! And here's John's clothes." She dropped the bag just inside the door. "Take care of him." She bent down and gave both Al and Johnny a kiss on the cheek and shot Carlie a look that could make hell freeze over before driving back to her own house. 

"So much for formal introductions." Al muttered as he closed the door, holding the boy protectively on his lap as he did so. 

"Carlie, let's get this straight once, alright? You can call me crip all you want but you will not talk to my friends that way! Do you hear me?" 

His niece crossed her arms and huffed, "How can't I? You're nearly screamin' in my ear!" 

"I'm not kidding!" 

She balled her hands up into fists and plastered her arms back down her sides, yelling back at him. "What are you going to do, you numb-nutted freak? Hit me?" 

Al finally realized that there was more to the girl's attitude than what was being displayed. All Carlie seems to want to do is start a fight. It was probably the only thing she knew how to do without making herself seem like she was lousing up, Al   
thought. 

When he said nothing in reply to her demanding question, she threw her arms up in the air and went back to her room, slamming the door. To Johnny, it seemed like there was nothing left to do but fight and Al nearly forgot that the boy was on his lap. 

The poor kid was curled up in Al's lap, burying himself into his chest with his hands firmly clasping his ears and eyes shut tight. The sight of Johnny scrunched up in a ball like he was made Al's mouth curl into a half smile. He could have sworn the little boy looked like a rump roast with hair. But all joking aside, another fight was the last thing John needed to be put in the middle of. Realizing this, Al lifted his nephew with his arms and embraced his tiny body. 

"Aw, I'm sorry, little guy." Al soothed as best he could with his graveled tone. He pulled away slightly and gazed into his Godson's puppy dog eyes. The little boy whimpered a bit and rubbed his eyes with a fist, indicating sleepiness. Al ruffled Johnny's hair. "You tired?" John nodded. "How about we put you on the couch until it's time for dinner?" Little Beckett nodded again but soon pinched his nose and scrunched his face. "Something smells yucky!" 

The stench wasn't lost on Al. As quickly as he could, he set John back down onto the floor and sped into the kitchen, opening up the oven and pulling out something that used to be a roast. Now it looked more like a large lump of charcoal and the odor was beyond belief. 

Al groaned. "So much for dinner." 

Johnny waddled in after his adopted uncle and stood by his left wheel, still pinching his nose. "Eew." 

"No kidding. So, Johnny, whaddya say we order in?" 

John released his nose with a big smile and declared, "Pizza!" 

------------------------------------   
  



	4. Midnight Heart to Heart

star4.html   
Chapter Four 

She bolted upright from her restless sleep. Her curls thrown about her shoulders and she found herself panting. She couldn't see, due to the pitch blackness of her surroundings. The stillness she felt around her was nearly unbearable. The sound of her own breathing scared her. After a moment, her breathing finally calmed and she swallowed the forming lump in her throat as she realized where she was exactly. The crip's house. 

Carlie took one slow breath and let her eyes adjust to what little light was provided by the window in her room. The moon wasn't out but some faint illumination from the street lamps outside was enough for her to make out what she thought was the door to her bedroom. It was closed and locked and she feared opening it. Her ghosts from the past wouldn't let her open her door very easily and she fought with those phantoms everyday of her life since her nightmares began. 

"Crip" had ordered them a pizza that night. He had to bring a slice into her room because she probably wouldn't have gone to get it herself anyway. Al left her alone immediately afterwards. He knew she needed space but Carlie didn't care. 

But that wasn't entirely true. Maybe she did feel at least something for him. She could have run away anytime she wanted to and yet something inside her told her to stay. He had the same eyes as her grandmother. His mother. Carlie had briefly risked looking into his eyes and could've sworn she saw her Nana. In a split second, a softened look on her face turned into a sour one and she let a curse to him slip past her lips. The cussing managed to buy her a lot of time alone. 

She was alone now and she saw her opportunity. Besides, she couldn't go back to sleep if she wanted to. Standing, the hardwood floor was cold under her bare feet but she didn't care much. She tiptoed to the door, slowly unlocking it and turning the knob. The springs inside the doorknob mechanism made noises of straining and her heart quickened at the sound. She hoped it wouldn't wake her uncle. He didn't seem like the kind that would do anything too drastic but she still didn't know what kind of person he was exactly. 

She wasn't able to get a good look at the man's house yet since she'd spent all of her time in her room. She was starting to feel a little cabin feverish even but she fought not to let it overcome her. As quietly as she could manage, she made her way out into the hallway. Her hand outstretched to touch the wall, she felt picture frames as she walked along, being careful not to knock them to the floor. 

She saw the doorway leading to the kitchen as she entered the living room. Her tummy rumbled a bit so she went for it. Forgetting herself for a moment, her feet slapped on the floor as she moved and she heard someone stir in the room. Fear choked her, for she was certain that three-year-olds didn't snore so deeply. She found herself unable to move any further.   
Sprawled out on the couch was a slumbering Admiral. Carlie couldn't tell at first if he was awake or not. She dared herself to find out. As she approached the couch, she felt a rug under her feet. There was no coffee table to bump into yet she collided with another object. It was still dark so she couldn't see what it was. She touched a part of it and her hand came in contact with a tire. She gulped, realizing what it was. 

Urging herself onward, she bent over to get a closer look at Al's face. He opened his eyes slightly. Carlie didn't notice until his eyes opened up wide as they focused on her. 

He screamed. So did Carlie, jumping back and tumbling backwards into the wheelchair. Al reached behind him to turn on a lamp. As soon as the lights came on and she looked down to see what she was sitting in. She screamed again and leaped back onto her feet. 

"Carlie?" Al said, rubbing his face and sitting up. Carlie was still trying to regain her breath. Passing a hand through his hair, "Jesus, Carlie. You almost gave me a heart attack." 

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I . . .," she swallowed and rubbed her stomach. "I think I'm going to throw up." Nausea overwhelmed her and she covered her mouth, running into the hallway bathroom. Al sighed and threw back the blanket that covered him, transferring into his chair. 

After a few minutes of regurgitating what little food she had in her stomach, she noticed Al by the door with an empty glass in his hand. 

"Didn't want it to spill all over the floor." He said softly, indicating the glass. He held it out to her and, hesitantly, she took it, casting her eyes away. 

"Thanks." She whispered. 

Al raised his eyebrows a bit. "Well, at least we know you have manners." 

Carlie ignored the comment, washing out her mouth and filling the glass with water. Not finding the courage to look at him, she took a few sips from the glass before speaking timidly. "Are you angry?" 

Confusion crossed Al's face. "Angry? Why would I be?" 

The girl shrugged slightly. "I dunno. For waking you up, I guess. It happened once with my dad and I should've known better to never do it again." 

"What happened?" 

With an expressionless look on her face, she emptied the glass of water and responded bitterly, "Things I can't seem to forget." 

In all reality, Al was exhausted. His concern for his niece added to his fatigue. But after what she had just said, he couldn't leave her alone just to go back to sleep. Even though she didn't admit it, it was obvious to Al that she needed to talk to someone. 

Pausing a moment for consideration, Al spoke up again. "So, couldn't sleep?" 

Still staring at nothing of her interest, she nodded, "Something like that." 

Al only nodded, not wanting to push her too far. Whatever was wrong, it was buried deep within her soul, and he understood more than anyone what kind of hurt that would bring. "Well, first night in a strange place'll do that." 

Carlie still couldn't find it in her to look into his eyes again and she wiped her face with a towel as an excuse for avoidance. "Yeah, well. I should know, huh?" 

"Yeah, guess so." Al paused, still avoiding the blunt tack he was tempted to take. "Anything I can do to help?" 

Her head began to feel as if it were swelling up when she heard the offer. It had been a while since anyone had been so kind to her and she didn't know how to react exactly. Softly, she asks, "Can I have some milk?" 

Al held back a sigh of relief. Her attitude is much more reserved, less abrasive. But he wasn't sure if that was entirely a positive sign. "Sure. Getting hungry?" 

She never seemed to be looking at him as she spoke to him. Rubbing her stomach, she exhaled slowly, "I don't know if I can hold anything down after praying to the porcelain there." 

Al laughs lightly. Kid's at least got a sense of humor, he thinks. "Don't blame you. Maybe you can try some crackers when you're ready." He took a moment of silence, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. As both niece and uncle go into the kitchen, he wonders just how far he should go with her. It was the first time she had indicated she needed to talk. But, if there is one thing he understood, it was demons. "You sick or just uncomfortable?" 

Briefly risking a glance at him before looking at the floor, she bit her lip and answered with more compassion than intended, "I'd be lying if I said I was sick." 

Al nodded slowly again. He opened the refrigerator, snagging the milk. "Anything on your mind?" he asks slowly, carefully.   
Sitting herself down at the table, Carlie folded her hands in front of her and stared at her fingers. "Did you really want me here?" 

The question took him by surprise. He held the milk carton in his hands, momentarily forgotten as he tried to think of a proper answer. "Of - of course I do." She had, he decides, been tossed around enough. Been unwanted enough.   
She shook her head and shrugged a bit. "I don't understand how you can do it. How can you take care of me if you're a crip?" Obviously, no one bothered to teach her proper conversational terminology. You just don't say those kinds of things. But how was Carlie supposed to know not to bite the hand that feeds her when that's all she knew how to do? 

He stiffened slightly. Not that he could help it. "I've done perfectly well taking care of myself.... Besides, it's nice to have someone else around." 

She raised an eyebrow half-heartedly, picking at a hang nail, "Been hard bein' a crip, huh?" 

Al takes a deep breath, calming himself. Without thinking, he mutters to himself. "Could do with some manners, though."   
Carlie didn't hear him, her concentration being on her hands. She thought about what he said about having someone around. It made her wonder. "What about the runt? John what's-his-name. Seems you've had him around a lot." 

"That's a long story." His voice was tight as he spoke those few words but he didn't apologize for it. There was no need. "But, yeah, I'm fond of the little squirt." 

An uncomfortable silence fills the kitchen. Al took this time to pour the milk she had asked for into an empty glass and set it down in front of her. Carlie didn't know what else to say to him. Her curiosity does arise though when she glances down at a wheel. "How did it happen?" 

He hesitated, not certain if dredging anything up in his own heart would help her, or just satisfy her curiosity. He finally resolved for simplicity. "I got shot." 

Impulsively, she gave him a scoffing look and huffed. "People get shot in Brooklyn all the time and they never end up like you do." 

Al could have sworn he felt an icy chill breathe down his neck as she said those words. It hurt. How could she say something like that to him? "Body bags?" He asked, deadpan. Sarcasm seemed to be seeping into his words to cover for his frustration. 

Carlie detected this with an ease that was almost frightening. It was a skill that most people acquired in their later years. Carlie was but a young girl. She narrowed her eyes at him. She really wanted to hurt him now; revenge for his sarcasm. "Actually, they get up and walk away. But that obviously didn't happen in your case, did it?" 

He inhaled sharply, suddenly sitting very erect in his chair. "Guess not." There was no way he could look at her after what she said. He stared at his hands, fighting the emotions coursing over him. The last thing he was going to do is let her see how much her words were affecting him. 

Again, Carlie could easily detect his feelings by what his body language was telling her. The pride of actually being able to hurt him was a little too overwhelming for her and she smiled despite the situation. "I did it, didn't I? I really hurt your feelings." 

Al wanted to scream at her, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" But as he began to reply with the same harshness as his thoughts, he reconsidered. He turned away from her, quietly saying, "I need to go back to bed. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" 

She was never really able to hurt anyone's feelings before, since all her life it was her feelings being hurt. Most of the time, she would beat the crap out of people instead of trying to hurt them emotionally. Her abrasive style of dealing with strangers was a hard habit to get rid of. The consequences for deliberately hurting his feelings ended being a tight knot in her stomach. The few morals her grandmother had taught her had begun to sink in and she had to stop him. "Wait a minute, will ya?" 

He stopped, more from reflex than any desire to, but still faced away from her, poised in the doorway out of the kitchen. "Do you need something else?" His voice was quiet, devoid of anger, but also devoid of anything else. And it shook a little. 

She stood, approaching him and finally looked at him. Not as if she liked him or anything, but because she felt she had to. "Yes." 

"What?" His voice was steadier, but just barely above a whisper. 

She was a little hesitant at first. But as she thought about her next phrase, she grew confident and it shone in her face with a slight smile. "I need . . . to apologize. I realized I was really just testing you and I didn't mean anything I said. I'm sorry." What was she? A shrink? She figured she'd have to start staying away from those people. She was starting to sound like them. 

"Did I pass?" There was no humor in the words, none in his dark eyes. He just wanted to leave, to go back to bed and slip into oblivion. 

She lowered her eyelids in disappointment. She was so confident that it would work. She whispered, "So the 'I'm sorry' bit doesn't work for you either, I guess. Right?" 

"It's not that simple, Carlie." He stared intensely at the wall, as if it held all the words he was searching for. 

Raising her voice out of her surfacing anger and frustration, she practically screamed at him, "Then how the hell can I make it simple, damn it!?" 

Her anger drew out his own and he finally turned back to her. "Well, damn it, you can't! You can't just - tear into someone for the hell of it, for your own personal amusement, and then say 'oh, I'm sorry' and expect it all to go away. Things don't work that way, Carlie! Don't you get it? They don't. There are consequences, dammit!" Abruptly, he stopped, wiped his face and clenched his jaw. 

She stood very straight, almost defensively, in response to his words, forcing her emotions back. Her voice was shaky and quiet when she speaks up once more. "Then what do I do? I said I was sorry but no one . . .," She shook her head, "No one ever taught me anything else. I thought an apology was enough." 

"Well, you were wrong." was what he wanted to say, but he swallowed the words back. She was at least making an effort and he had to recognize that. "It's okay, Carlie. What's done is done." His voice was a little tighter that he had intended.   
She knelt in front of him so that she was not towering over him. With all her heart, she looked deeply into his eyes, trying to find her Nana. Her expression turned into one of hurt feelings. "I know I can't take back some of the things I said just now. I have to admit, I got some pretty bad influences on the street these past few years. I'm not sure you forgive me though. I wish you'd consider it." 

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he patted her arm briefly. "I'm sorry, hon, of course I do." 

The touch she felt on her arm made her pull back quickly. It sent a chill through her body and she couldn't identify exactly why she reacted in that manner. "Please . . . don't touch me." She managed in a tiny voice. 

Al immediately took his hand back, concern registered in his eyes. His voice automatically became gentle and soothing, his own distress long forgotten. "I'm sorry, baby... Are you okay?" 

She stood once more and faced away from him, waving off his concern. Massaging her head to soothe away surfacing demons, she lies, "Yeah. I'm fine. Really." 

"You're lying." He said softly, drawn out of him on instinct. 

She huffed with a smile. "You're good." 

He returned the smile faintly. "Well, when you reach my age -you know, the 30's - you'll find you've learned a lot. Whether you wanted to or not." 

Facing the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, mostly to avoid the concern she felt was in his gaze, she explained as nonchalantly as possible, "Okay. I guess they didn't tell you what happened in my past so I suppose we should just get it over with now. My father was always abusive and controlling. He raped me when I was ten and you already know about my mom." She inhaled unsteadily, relieved that her past was off her shoulders but afraid of the reaction she would get. 

Al took a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing himself to relax with the exhale. "That's why you had a nightmare earlier. Isn't it?" 

She closed her eyes, swallowing down the bile the came up from her stomach. "'Nightmare' doesn't even begin to describe it." 

"Yeah." Sympathy was evident in his eyes as he stared at her. "I know." 

Her tone became apologizing and humble again. Yet, she still didn't turn to look at him. "Hey, listen. I'm still really sorry for waking you up and all. Guess you'd need all the sleep you can get with the runt here." She finished with a turn to his gaze, flashing him a slight smile and hoping that her changing the subject worked. 

Al didn't return the gesture, aware that his voice had taken on an urgent tone. "Carlie, hon, you can't ignore this. It'll eat you up inside. Believe me, I know." 

Her tone didn't change from it's uneasiness. She frowned again. "Maybe I should just keep letting it eat me up, then." 

He chuckled dryly. "Sure wish it was that easy. Just...promise me you'll tell me if you need anything, okay?" 

Biting her lip, Carlie crossed her arms, responding softly, "Yeah. . . . yeah, okay." 

"I mean it, Carlie." His voice was firm, but gentle. He recalled, too well, what his life was like when he refused to deal with his own past. In spite of the bad beginning between them, he hated to think of a girl locked in similar self-destructive actions. 

She glared at him with lucid eyes, asking a little too angrily, "Do you? Do you know how many times people have offered they're help and then rejected it the instant I request one small thing!? Do you know what it feels like to lose everyone you've ever loved and all of a sudden live with a stranger?" Though she tried not to cry, a warm moisture managed to escape and drizzle down her cheek. "Have you ever felt the constant presence of hate and pain and suffering?" 

Al's expression softened further still. "Yes." was all he can bring himself to say, wondering if she would believe him.   
She sobbed to herself, throwing her arms up and looked up at the ceiling as if waiting for a second opinion. It wasn't long before she found herself on her knees, letting herself drain of all the rage and pain inside of her. 

Al was uncertain how to react to her, afraid to hurt her more than she was already hurting. He remembered the way he felt when someone first understood him. Who would have thought it would be a genius with an almost-perfect life? Instead of touching her, he leaned forward and whispered vague reassurances, waiting for her to empty herself of all emotion.   
Without thinking or bothering to see who was with her, Carlie threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly, sobbing into his shoulder, crying, "Nana! I want my Nana!" 

The girl felt comforting to him in Al's arms. He held her firmly, reminded of Johnny whenever he became upset, and rocked her slowly. "I'm sorry, baby, it's okay... It's all gonna be okay - are you listening to me?" 

She blinked but the tears still came. She choked out, "I'm listening to you and I don't know who you are." 

He sighed softly and rubbed her back, mentally preparing himself for a violent reaction when realization returns to her. "That's okay - just listen. I only want to help, hon. I understand and nobody's going to hurt you, okay?" 

She began to respond as her sobs dwindled and she finally realized who it was that was holding her in their arms. She pulled back rapidly, looking around the room in trepidation. Running a hand through her hair, she mumbled, "I have to go to bed." 

He started to protest, then backed off. *One step at a time* he reminded himself mentally, letting her pull away when she needed to. "Sure. We can talk in the morning, okay?" 

"Yeah." She whispered nearly inaudibly before running into her room and away from him. 

Al released a heavy breath and positioned himself outside her closed door, preparing himself to stay there all night, just in case they should have a similar episode later. "Sleep well, Carlie." He whispered, not yet admitting to himself that this rude, always inappropriate girl had already taken her own little place in his heart. 

-------------------------------- 

*Note: I give credit to Ann Marie Tajuddin for helping out with the dialogue and some narrative in this chapter.   
  



	5. Changes

star5.html Chapter Five   
  
Sunday was spent relatively the same way as Saturday. Carlie stayed in her room most of the time but was gathering the courage to emerge from her cave once in a while. Mostly for something to eat or drink. She engaged in very little conversation with Al that day but still, anything was a good sign.   
  
As for Al, he spent a lot of time with John. Dragging out a toy box Al kept in the hall closet, the box's contents were the main focus of Johnny's day. Usually, Al would just get down on the floor with his nephew to play with him even though it got painful for his back after a while. Basically, it was just another lazy Sunday. 

On Monday, Al had work to do at the project. Early that morning before Al had to leave, Donna came by to pick Johnny up. It was a little easier for Carlie with the kid around because it meant that she wasn't alone with a stranger. Once Mrs. Beckett left with her son, it was just her and Al. It made her tremble a bit. 

Al didn't really want to leave Carlie alone in the house. But it looked like he didn't really have much of a choice. With Carlie's promise that she'd take care of herself while he was gone, he left. 

As soon as the door closed and the car drove away, the teenager felt almost an overwhelming glee in her. The silence in the house made her feel free. 

Her snooping began in his bedroom . . . 

Everyday spent at the project was usually busy, though Mondays were always busiest. Since Ziggy was still in construction, all she was good for at that moment was what Sam called "regular number crunching". He was underneath the console, tweaking wires and readjusting circuitry, to hopefully improve her performance. 

Al rolled in and spotted the physicist's feet sticking out from underneath the juju bead console. Squinting his eyes, he approached Sam's position, being careful not to run over one of the man's feet. 

"Sam." Al said, trying to gain his attention. There were other technicians in the room but they all averted their gazes back to their work as soon as Al might have noticed them staring. When Sam didn't answer, but continued to twist and clank and screw the computer parts into the console, Al sighed a bit. Making his voice louder and grabbing a foot, Al almost yelled, "Sam!" 

Sam jerked up, yelling in pain as his head banged on the console. He crawled out from under it quickly, rubbing away at the tender spot, moaning. Finally focusing on who caused his pain, he asked impulsively, "What do you want?" 

Al stared at him a moment as if he were a lunatic before shrugging. "What kind of question is that? I only wanted to say hello." 

Sam sighed, still massaging the spot on his head. "I'm sorry. Hi, Al." He said a little more politely that he had intended before his first question. 

A skeptical gaze came from the man in the wheelchair as he looked up at his friend. He pointed a finger at Sam, sort of bobbing it up and down as he thought of what he was about to say. "You know," he began carefully, "I hate it when you do that." 

Sam's eyebrows raised up in a confused manner, completely lost on where Al was getting at. "Do what?" 

"That - that thing you always do when you see me." 

Beckett didn't really feel like wasting so much time when there was work to be done. At least it seemed like a waste of time to him. He swiftly walked around Al to get some more tools from his office. "I don't have time for this." 

Al's eyes followed Sam until he had to turn his chair around to keep his gaze on him. "Where are you going?" Al asked, easily keeping up with Sam's long strides; one of the advantages of being on wheels. 

Wordlessly, Sam picked up a cardboard box that had been sitting on the table in the office. It was overflowing with circuitry, wires and more tools. When he turned around with the heavy box in his hands, he peered over the tiny mountain of circuitry and met Al's flustered gaze. Sam rolled is eyes. "Yes, Al?" 

"We better talk and soon. I don't think I can stand much more of this." 

Sam wasn't shaken. He brushed passed Al, muttering, "You can say that again." 

Again, Al followed him out, growling loudly. "Fine! Fine, you don't want me around, that's just fine and dandy! I'm leaving!" 

Quickly setting the box down by Ziggy's console, Sam whirled around just as Al was on his way out. "You have work to do." He said forcefully. 

With a near smirk on his face, though still very angry, Al glared and snapped, "What are you going to do? Twist my arm behind my back and beat me with an I'm-the-boss stick? No, thank you." And he left before he could say anything. 

Beaten, Sam clenched his jaw and didn't bother to follow the Admiral. He stood there for a minute before picking up a sharp tool. He picked it up too quickly and with too much strength, cutting up his hand pretty nicely. He yelped in pain and out of frustration and anger, he threw the tool across the room without thinking. He nursed his hand for a minute before growling and kicking the tool box over. Why did he let things get this bad?   
  
The day really hadn't gone well beyond that argument. Sam arrived to his home, if he could call it that anymore, with a heavy heart. Three years is a long time to wait for an apology. He walked into the kitchen, knowing that he would find Donna there drinking coffee. Sure enough, there she was, her back to the kitchen doorway, in a pink robe. 

Sam sighed. He had missed dinner again. Why couldn't he just remember? He already left his briefcase by the door in the living room, not even thinking about the work in it as he sat down by his wife. 

"Donna . . ." he began softly, ready to explain. 

"What happened to your hand?" was the first thing out of her mouth. 

He looked down at the offending hand and finally noticed that he'd tended to it rather poorly for a medical doctor. He just didn't care about himself anymore. He stuttered a moment, "Oh, I, uh . . . I cut myself." 

She stood up. "It's going to get infected." She left the kitchen to get the first aid kit from the bathroom. She only took a second but she felt that something had suddenly changed. Returning to the kitchen, Sam no longer had a sad-sacked posture and basset hound gaze. It was Sam's face but the look was different - evil almost. Donna knew her husband very well. She was hesitant as she approached him, setting the kit down on the table where he sat. "Let me see your hand." She said softly, ready with an alcohol pad. 

Sam looked at her, snapping his gaze at her quickly. He narrowed his eyes a bit before slowly showing her both his hands, almost not knowing which she wanted to see. She took the once offending hand in hers, examining it carefully. The cut was gone. Donna's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, biting her lip and looking toward her husband. "Guess it wasn't as bad as I thought it was." 

"Sam" only nodded. 

Again, her brows her furrowed. "You sleep on the couch again. I already laid out some blankets for you."   
He nodded curtly. "Fine." And he left for the living room. 

Donna only watched him go, crossing her arms over her chest. Something was wrong, different, and she knew it. She just wasn't sure how different or wrong.   
  


Carlie was asleep in bed by 10 o'clock. It was unusual for her, going to bed so early, but for some reason she just tuckered out. Tina had had the pleasure of baby-sitting her, but Carlie expressed little complaints towards this. The girl just didn't let anyone get in the way of what she wanted to do. 

Since Tina was given the day off to baby sit, she had sat on Al's couch all day, watching soaps and reading beauty   
magazines while Carlie snooped around Al's house. The teenager was seriously impressed by Al's wardrobe, especially his hat collection. She even tried some on. Going through closets, cupboards and boxes all day, she learned more about the   
Admiral. His taste in clothing was already approved. Pictures told Carlie that Al actually smiled. Those she had found in the boxes, not displayed for some reason. 

Tina left an hour after Carlie had went to bed. Al's niece was sound asleep. She didn't hear Al open the front door. It was late by then. He entered the house, finding it quiet as he always did but there was a different aura in the house. It was quiet, true, but there was more life to it somehow. Al felt it but he couldn't explain it. He also had too much of an ego to admit it. 

To settle his conscious, Al slowly crept into Carlie's room to check on her. He tried to be quiet, almost thankful that wheels didn't make noise like footsteps did. He went to her bedside and peered at her with kind eyes and a slight smile. It was then that he noticed the teddy bear she held in the crook of her arm as she slept. The sight made his heart leap a second, feeling so much sympathy for her and suddenly love as well. His smile widened ever so slightly. He brushed Carlie's hair back a bit before bending down and kissing the side of her head. 

Feeling once again at ease, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Things were going to be different for him now. He liked what life had given him this time. With a contented heart, after so many years, he went to bed himself. Though, he was unaware that things were about to get difficult again.   
  



	6. High School Shiner

Chapter Six

by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Carlie was begrudgingly forced awake by the incessant banging on her bedroom door. Her uncle decided it was time for her to wake up, and she didn't have a choice in the matter. Bleary eyed, she gazed at the dinosaur clock on her night stand. Six o'clock in the morning. A feeling of dread filled her stomach as she finally realized why she was aroused so disturbingly early.

School, of course. She groaned. There was no getting out of it. She took her time to get dressed. Something simple. Stretchy jeans to show off her curves and a velour sweatshirt of some bastardized color of maroon. Her hair hung down in long strings and half covered her face. This was how she emerged from her cave and went into the kitchen to satisfy the enormous grumbling in her stomach.

"Good morning," Al greeted when he heard the footsteps approaching the kitchen. He mixed the eggs one last time before dishing them out on two plates. Putting a tray in his lap, he put the plates on the tray and wheeled himself over to the table. Putting the plates on the table, he looked up at Carlie with questioning. "You're wearing that?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Carlie eyed the deep purple printed shirt Al was wearing, scrutinizing the silver suspenders and matching tie. She, too, raised an eyebrow.

"If you're about to judge what I'm wearing, I'd say your about to find yourself completely out of line. Nice suspenders." She sat down and started eating the eggs on her plate.

"Thanks. I'm rather fond of them myself," Al replied with a slight grin. He looked up at the clock. "You've got fifteen minutes until we have to leave. Don't want to be late. Oh, and just to let you know, the temperature outside is supposed to get up to seventy-three degrees. I'm just thinking a sweatshirt in New Mexico this time of year might not be very comfortable for you."

"I've got a shirt under it. But thanks." She practically inhaled the rest of her eggs before getting up from her seat. She touched Al's shoulder. "And just so you know, I hate eggs." She leaves to get her book bag and notebook computer.

"For a girl who hate eggs, you sure can put them down," Al muttered as he finished his own breakfast. Taking the plates to the kitchen, he put them in the sink before wheeling into the living room to check the morning news while Carlie finished preparing for school.

Once she stepped out, he gave her a little smile.

"Ready?" When she didn't answer but instead headed for the door, he shrugged slightly. "Guess so," he said mostly to himself, exiting the house and ensuring that it was locked before going to the car and getting in with practiced skill, folding his chair and carefully putting it in the backseat.

"I hope you understand I'll never forgive you for this," Carlie began as they were headed down the main highway towards the high school she was doomed to attend.

"You're fifteen, Carlie. In three years time, you'll be actually thanking me for this." To the roll she made with her eyes, Al smiled slightly. "Hey, it's either go to this high school or to the Catholic parochial school ten miles away. Personally, I don't have fond memories of nuns with rulers in hand."

"If you send me to Catholic school, I'll run away. There's no way in hell you're making me go there. You dig?" She slumped in her seat, "It's bad enough I have to deal with high school to begin with. You do realize that's it's considered punishment worse than death in some countries."

Al chuckled slightly at her words. "Well, I can assure you that there are no torture racks at this high school," he told her gently as he pulled up to the drop-off. "I'll pick you up here at 3:30."

At that last moment, she clenched herself against Al's arm. "Please, don't leave me! Don't make me go in there! I'll - I'll do anything you want! I'll clean your wheelchair. Anything..."

Gently, Al pulled her grip off of him. "Carlie, it's just high school. You have to go, honey. You need an education. And I wouldn't be a very good guardian if I didn't send you to school." He looked at her loving in the eyes. "It'll be okay. I'll be right here at 3:30 to pick you up. Okay?"

With a very heavy sigh, Carlie was finally able to leave the car, half dragging her book bag out. She bent down to look at Al one last time.

"Honestly. Haven't you ever heard of a GED?" She rolled her eyes and shut the car door, headed off for her doomed misadventure of high school in New Mexico.

"People who have GEDs tend to work at McDonald's," Al muttered before shaking his head slightly and driving away for the Project Quantum Leap complex. There was still so much to do in rebuilding Sam's dream. Al just hoped that he could somehow rebuild a friendship.

The project itself was still in a sort of half state. The halls were littered with equipment and boxes of wires. Only certain sub levels were functional. The control room was the first to be re-established. Residential levels were second. Offices weren't so much available. Panels were missing in certain areas, leaving all the internal fiber optics exposed.

To put it simply, it was a mess.

Sam walked through the octagonal hallways methodically. He gazed carefully at everything, studied everything. He stopped at a wall panel where an LCD screen was not yet turned on. The screen was blank. He touched it and nothing happened.

Having insured that Carlie was safe in school, Al arrived at Project Quantum Leap with a minute to spare. Greeting the guard on duty, who saluted him with respect, he took the elevator down to the offices. With the control room pretty much re-established, except for a few minor problems with Ziggy, the offices were all that was really left to do.

Entering the hallway from the elevator, Al immediately noticed Sam touching a panel and frowning at it. After the other evening, with Sam going off on him so violently, Al wondered what kind of mental state the scientist would be in. He just hoped that he could get through Sam's denial and self-inflicted guilt.

"Good morning, Sam," he greeted cautiously, hoping he wouldn't get his head bitten off as usual.

Sam turned briskly, startled by the admiral's husky voice. Silently, he gazed at the man in the wheelchair, cocking his head slightly and almost trying not to smile.

"Good morning... Al." He briefly turned away to suppress the smirk that was creeping onto his lips. Looking around at the cluttered floor, he couldn't help but ask, "Bit hard to get around for you down here, isn't it?"

He's being civil! Al thought with astonishment at Sam's greeting. "I manage," he replied to the question. "At least I can't trip over anything."

Sam only nodded before turning back to the blank wall panel. He touched it again, examining the exposed circuitry. "You can fix this, can't you?" He asked seriously.

Al smiled slightly. Donna must have finally gotten through that hard head of his. Thank God!

"Oh, sure. Hey, you are talking to the electronics wizard here! Nothing a little know-how and a hard-working workforce can't fix."

"Good." Sam replied, "I'd like it working soon." Then he thought for a moment, taking his time and still looking at Al with the same curious expression. "How are things for you, Al?"

Al licked his lips for a moment, not looking at his friend. "You know, I think this is the first time since the incident that you've even paid the least bit of attention to me without getting all weird." Seeing the surprised look on Sam's face, he continued.

"It's nice to hear that you care." He took a breath. "I'm okay, considering. I mean, Carlie... she... she's really something." He chuckled slightly. "Makes me wonder if I was that stubborn at her age."

"Carlie's your . . . girlfriend?" He asked carefully.

Al frowned slightly. "Fifteen years old is a little young for me, don't you think, Sam? Boy, you really weren't even listening or paying any attention to me these last few years, were you." Getting a confused look, Al sighed. "Carlie's my niece, Sam, remember? My mother's daughter's child?"

Sam occupied himself with the same blank panel, examining the crystal transistors one by one. "Talk about far removed. I thought you didn't have family."

"Yeah, so did I," Al commented. He watched Sam for a moment before rolling a little closer. "See anything that pops out?"

Sam was suddenly uncomfortable with Al's approach. He hurriedly put away the transistors. "No, nothing. Uh - I'll let you work on it." Just as abruptly as he said it, he turned to leave.

"And here I thought we'd gotten past this," Al muttered as Sam turned to leave. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "You know, it's not contagious. And I'm still the same man I was before." When Sam didn't look at him but didn't take another step, Al slammed his palm on the wheel of his chair. "Sam, damn it! Why the hell can't you spend more than two minutes around me? This has gone on for too damned long! You're just going to throw away twenty years of friendship because I can't walk anymore?"

Slowly, Sam turned. He looked at Al, really looked at him. His expression was masked, deeply hidden even within his hazel eyes. His voice didn't waver and was frighteningly clear when he said, "No. I'm not. There's nothing to throw away."

Al swallowed as he looked into his friend's eyes. At least, he thought he was a friend. "So, the last twenty years... were a lie?"

Sam shrugged. "I'll let you decide." With those cold words still ringing within the cluttered hall, he left, stepping over various wires before turned the corner.

Al blinked in confusion. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Rubbing his hand through his hair, he sighed and decided to focus on what he knew he could fix, which was the wiring in front of him. After several hours of working on the problem, he was finally able to get the panel working properly.

At around noon, a strange chirping was heard in the hall. Ziggy's voice was still being worked on, so she ended sounding a lot like Max Headroom sometimes. "Ad-ad-admiral." quipped the computer.

Al sighed slightly, rubbing his face. His brain felt like mashed potatoes... which didn't sound too bad to eat at the moment. "What is it, Ziggy?"

"You have-have just received a phone call from Al-Alamogordo High School." She briefed, "Shall I inform secur-curity of your imminent departure?"

"Why should I be leaving, Ziggy?" Al questioned before thinking about what Ziggy had said. "Alamogordo High School? Carlie! What happened?"

"Accor-cording to the message left by Principal Alvarez, your niece was involved in a - shall we say - cat fight?" Ziggy still didn't have tact programmed into her, "If I may say, Admiral - this wouldn't be out of character for the Calavicci gene pool."

"Thanks a lot," Al muttered sarcastically. "Crap. All right, inform security that I'm leaving and let Dr. Beckett know that I had to leave for a family emergency. I have a feeling I won't be back for today." Heading for the elevator, a thousand questions ran through Al's mind, the foremost being what the hell his niece had gotten herself into.

It had taken a good forty-five minutes for Al to arrive at Principal Alvarez's office and it showed on his face that he wasn't in a pleasant mood. Still, he remained civil as he entered the office. "Principal Alvarez, Al Calavicci. Now what exactly is going on?"

"Hello, Mr. Calavicci," began the principal, but apparently the man hadn't been informed of his rank.

"Admiral," corrected Carlie, who was seated in one of the chairs off to the side. Her head was turned away to hide the magnificent shiner she'd earned from her efforts earlier.

"Sorry. Admiral Calavicci. Eh, maybe you'd like to ask your niece what happened."

Al turned his head towards the girl, who was obviously trying to hide the evidence. "Carlie?" he demanded, his tone firm and unyielding. When the girl didn't answer, he lowered his eyelids. "Carlie, look at me and tell me what happened." Still, no answer. "Now, young lady."

Carlie sighed and decided that it was a good time to act like the average teenager by being difficult with authority. She looked directly at Al, giving him a good look at the shiner. "It was a fight, okay? But you knew that already. Oh, yeah. And I'm suspended. What else you wanna know?"

"Why you got into a fight in the first place," Al told her bluntly. "The whole story, Carlie, not the cliff Notes version."

She stood up to her full five feet, five inch height, barely towering over her uncle but just enough to make her intent clear. "I fought because a girl called you things that no one should have to hear. She called me things. She called us things. She needed to be slugged, so I slugged her. Okay?"

Al exhaled slowly. "No, it's not okay. But we'll discuss it further at home." He looked to Principal Alvarez. "How long is she suspended?"

Alvarez, who was briefly floundered by the sudden address, managed to refocus and answer, "Three days. Ah, yes, if you'll just sign this, sir." And he pushed across a form of official notice of suspension, upon which an X had been placed on a line at the bottom. Below it was Carlie's signature.

Reading the notice carefully, Al signed it and then looked at Carlie. "Go get your things and meet me at the car." Then without another word, he left the office, clearly disappointed in his niece's behavior.

The ride home was less than pleasant. Barely tolerable. Carlie sat with her arms crossed and a pout on her lips that would be the envy of every model in Hollywood. "You're being SO unfair." She finally said.

"About what?" Al questioned, his attention mostly on the road.

"I defend you, and I get nothing but grief. That's what unfair." She pouted again.

Al didn't say another word until he pulled into the driveway and parked the car. "Go inside and wash your face. I want to get a good look at that shiner," he told her as he got into his wheelchair. Going into the house, he pushed the door closed and put the keys on the nearest table before going into the kitchen to get out instant freeze icepack.

Shaking it, he told Carlie to sit at the kitchen table and then he rolled over to her, looking at the growing bruise. "A cold compress tonight should help that out," he told her. She continued to pout. Al sighed. "Thank you for defending me. Don't do it again."

Painful though it was, she rolled her eyes. The compress was still pressed against her eye, however. "At least you thanked me. The girl deserved it for calling you - well - for what she said. Can't let her go around calling me a whore, you know."

"Kids can say some pretty nasty things, especially when they don't understand," Al told her gently. "But it isn't worth a fight. All you're doing is encouraging them to keep calling you names when you pick a fight. Never pick a fight, Carlie. But don't be afraid to finish one if they're the ones that start throwing punches. Words aren't going to give you shiners or suspended from school."

She hung her head a bit. "It's hard, okay? It's hard not to get mad. History class rolls around and the teacher decided to bring up a certain event in history because I was in the class. Word travels fast, I guess. Apparently, you're a celebrity."

"Really?" he commented as he started cleaning the scraps on her face. "Didn't know they were teaching about old fogies like me in History class."

"Uh, yeah, nice try, Mr. Innocent." she mocked playfully. Giving him a look, she finally cracked a bit of a smile. It was more like a half-smile. "You were an astronaut. But, at your age, I guess you might have forgotten."

"Nah, the memory falls out with the hair," he teased her gently. "Okay, so they were teaching about my being an astronaut on the Apollo missions and..." he started for her, leading her to finish his sentence.

"Ugh," she groaned, "She started talking about stem cells."

"In History class? How do stemcells in anyway relate to my having been an astronaut or that fight you got into this morning?"

"Yeah, that's what I tried to tell her... minus the fight part. I kept raising my hand, even interrupting her to let her know we were in History and not science class." Carlie shook her head, "I think she's a fan of yours or something. Or maybe she gushed because I'm related to you. Anyway, people started asking the same thing. She told us about what happened to you three years ago."

Al exhaled slowly. "So I was shot. Big deal. Massive media circus. And so..."

At that, Carlie stopped. Her mind had gone beyond the fight, beyond school and history class. With her good eye, she looked her uncle in the eye. "You were shot. How did it happen?"

"So, Miss Teacher-Fan didn't tell you that part, huh?" Al commented. "Just some whacked-out disgruntled employee. And you are getting off the matter at hand, such as how you got into a fight defending my honor."

Carlie nearly growled with frustration. Why were adults always so hard to talk to. "A girl in class didn't appreciate the attention I was getting, okay? After class, she thought it'd be a great idea to humiliate me. So she called you old. She called you crippled. She called me a whore. A lot of stupid stuff. She wouldn't shut up! So I made her . . ." She shrugged.

Al huffed. "Sounds familiar," he murmured, dabbing at a scrape. "You and I are more alike than you know, kid."

Carlie winced at the touch of hydrogen peroxide on her face. "I'm beginning to realize that. So why don't you spit out some history and tell me why you can't walk. No cliff-notes."

"It's complicated," he replied after a long moment.

"Oh, my god!" Carlie announced loudly, throwing up her hands. She put down the icepack on the table, letting her shiner show prominently. "You don't get to say that. I get to say that. I'm the teenager, remember?"

Al laughed, rubbing his face. "Yeah, well, I'm the adult. I get to say whatever I want." Seeing the look on her face, his smile faded slightly. "Okay. I wanted to know why you slugged some girl with an attitude. Guess it's only fair that I give you something back." His face grew somber. "Someone wanted my partner dead. I pushed my partner out of the way and took the bullet. The bullet severed my spinal cord."

Carlie studied him, thinking. His words hung in the air for a long moment and the kitchen grew uncomfortably quiet. Then she said, "So we are a lot alike, I guess. Take a hit for a noble cause. Right?"

"As many times as we can get away with it," Al said quietly. "Just don't get yourself shot, kid." He looked away and sighed. "Sometimes, it isn't worth it."

Carlie's brow furrowed a bit, her expression confused. Gently, she touched his arm. "What happened to the noble cause part?"

Al shook his head. "I don't know. I wish I did."

-------------


	7. Long Island

Chapter Seven By C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

With Carlie suspended for three days, she had time to spend at home. Again. Something within her calmed down significantly after talking with her uncle some more. She began to almost - see - into his soul. She had dared to gaze deeply into his chocolate brown eyes.

And she managed to convince him to stay home with her. She wasn't sure what compelled her to do it. She had been so deterred by his disability in the first place. Calling him a crip, and so on. It didn't take very long for her to begin to understand something about him.

So now, instead of avoiding him, she followed him and watched him closely. He was in the kitchen - he seemed to like it in there - and she stared at how he maneuvered. She was mesmerized by how he worked swiftly.

For Al, the kitchen was the one place where he lately felt at home. At one time, it was at Project Quantum Leap working with Sam but that feeling, though Sam's recent apparent attempts to rekindle their friendship was nice. Still, the kitchen was Al's domain.

Moving about the room with the ease of practice, he pulled out the ingredients that would make the delicacy he was planning for dinner: Lasagna a la Calavicci, Killer Caesar Salad, and, last but not least, Al's Famous Hot Fudge Brownie sundaes. For only a split second did he wonder what his doctor would think of his choice of menu.

"What would you like to drink with your dinner, ma'am?" he asked with a smile. It was actually nice, he thought, that Carlie had cajoled him to stay at home while she was suspended.

For a moment, Carlie hadn't heard him. She just watched the wheels of his chair move and turn as his spun around and zoomed and eventually settled.

"Huh? Oh, drink. Um - how about a Long island - I mean . . . Maybe a coke is fine." She covered sheepishly.

Al looked at her with a slight frown. "Long Island Iced Tea?" he asked, knowing full well what she was going to say before she changed her words. Reaching into the refrigerator to get the Coke she amended her request to, he raised an eyebrow.

"So, how may times have you had a Long Island Iced Tea and who gave it to you and why?"

"Easy, hot wheels," Carlie defended, taking the coke. She didn't like where this was going. "What made you so edgy all of a sudden?"

Al exhaled slowly. "It's just hearing a sixteen year old girl ask for a Long Island Iced Tea is a little disturbing to me. Especially when you were obviously not trying to make a joke."

Carlie snapped open her coke and sat down at the table. She made a face that suggested she was annoyed by the sudden "Adult concern".

"Please. Don't tell me you didn't drink a little liquor at my age. And I'm 15. I won't be 16 until June."

A long moment of silence passed before Al spoke, his eyes looking a little haunted. "Yes, I drank at your age. I wish I hadn't now." Al shook his head at the memories that his childhood mistakes had created for him.

"Hey. I drink. That doesn't make me a drunk. When have you seen me take a drink in this dump anyway?" From the tone in her voice, it could be inferred that she did not like the way she was being judged. Or at least, how she perceived she might have been judged. Everyone her age drank a little juice back home.

"Never," Al answered her question. "And I hope it will stay that way." He took a breath, looking at his left hand, which for some reason had started to quiver slightly. "I don't need to go down that road, honey. I don't want to see that happen to you."

Carlie wasn't dumb. In fact, she had inherited the Calavicci sharpness that was the envy of every school she'd ever attended. She saw his gaze, followed it, and something drove her to stand quickly. She approached him and grabbed his wrist, turning it over to reveal what she had suspected. A scar. It was faded and old, but there.

"Like this?" She asked.

Al pulled his hand abruptly away, covering the scar with his shirtsleeve. He licked his lips for a long moment before going to the oven to take out the lasagna, which was threatening to burn, and putting it on the counter. Still, even as he tried to ignore Carlie's watching him, he couldn't. He swallowed tightly and then sighed.

"It was a long time ago. A stupid mistake."

A small smile, something deep and masked, cross Carlie's lips. She made sure to step in front of Al. She wanted him to see her. She was very close to him when she pulled up her own sleeve.

On her left arm, there was a line of parallel scars. Some of them deeper than others. One much more prominent. All of them ugly and permanent reminders of her past.

"See? We are related." she said quietly.

Seeing the scars on his niece's arm, Al felt a little something in him snap, He felt something trickling down his cheeks and he quickly wiped at them to get them out of his eyesight only to realize that they were tears.

Opening his arms slightly, he gave Carlie a weak smile. "Come 'ere," he whispered.

It wasn't a conscious reaction. It was simply reflex. She leaned down and let him envelope her in a tender embrace. There was hope. And there was something that Carlie could relate to - within her eccentric uncle. They both had a scarred past. The bond was automatic. Perhaps there was finally a relationship forming that Carlie might not yet admit to.

"Don't cry," she said, "We're both in the same boat... It might feel like a little boat, but at least we're in it together."

Al pulled her close to him, brushing her hair with his fingers. "Just don't abandon ship on me. Alcohol and Calavicci blood just don't mix well and... I don't want to lose you."

Carlie might have admitted that she actually liked the hug - eventually. But it was nonetheless an awkward position to be in, which she tried to play off with a smirk. "You don't want to lose me? We only just met last week, you know."

"It doesn't matter," Al whispered to her. "It only takes a minute for someone to imprint themselves onto your heart."

Slowly, he released her before looking in her eyes. "Will you make me a promise?" To the questioning look in her eyes, he blinked for a moment before speaking. "Promise no more drugs or alcohol or anything else that you might be into at the moment? I'm not going to ask what it all is. I just want you to stop. And I'll be here if you need help."

"Well, you're lucky I'm not a coke head," she said, her brow quirked up, "But yeah, fine. I'll stop. Not that I've done it since last year. Foster homes and stuff."

He just smiled gently at her words before turning towards the counter. "If you would be so kind as to get the lasagna for me, we'll have dinner now," he told her as he put the bowl of salad in his lap and wheeled over to the table.

The teen did as she was told. Odd, that this older and crippled man would have such a spell on her. Maybe it had to do with their familial relation, or the fact that he was the first of her family to treat her civilly. Though she wasn't sure if it was time to talk about such things, so she kept quiet as she removed the lasagna and put it on the table.

"You like to eat, don't you?" she had to ask.

"A good meal will cure just about anything in the world," Al told her with a grin. "Especially if you can share it with someone special."

Having been served the savory lasagna, Carlie wasted no time in digging in. She shoveled a heaping morsel into her mouth, dripping with cheese and sauce. It was still hot and burned, so she ended up opening her mouth and fanning her maw.

"Ho'..." she muffled.

Al grinned widely at the look on your face. "Water?" he offered, knowing that she had been a little too excited about digging in. "You know, it helps to let it cool before you start shoveling."

Carlie flashed him a look that was far too reminiscent of a Calavicci, took the water and washed down her lasagna. "Thanks," she said. After a moment, she thought again, wanting to ask more questions. They came easily. "Al? Why do you live alone anyway?"

"I don't anymore, in case you didn't notice," he told her, obviously not wanting to discuss it. She gave him a slightly dirty look before he decided that, if this relationship was going to work, it would be a good idea to be open with her. At least, as open as he could be.

"Sam reason you and I didn't get along so well when we first met. Never found anyone who would treat me as I want to be treated. People tend to judge based on what they see with their eyes, not with their hearts and minds."

Carlie thought for a long moment, relishing in the steam that touched her face from the hot plate of food in front of her. She was thoughtful, and stared at it, just formulating.

Finally, she said, "But you weren't always - this way. You're not exactly ugly, and neither am I. So . . . I don't know. There must be more to it than just people looking at us and deciding they don't like us. Don't you think?"

Al looked at her for a moment, an appreciation for her growing in his eyes. In a way, Carlie was definitely right; they are alike in so many ways. "I don't exactly think it's the way we look but rather the emotional scars we can't hide with the best attitudes we can dish out." He exhaled. "I don't think there are a lot of people out there that can handle damaged goods."

At that, Carlie mentally reeled. She grew very quiet. The delicious meal in front of her suddenly didn't seem so appetizing. She shook her head, unable to say anything.

After a long moment, the silence became unbearable to Al. "People can be pretty damned stupid, if you ask me." Seeing that she wasn't eating, Al reached over and touched her hand, giving her a smile. "Hey, if you don't eat, it'll grow cold. And you wouldn't be able to try my famous hot fudge brownie sundae."

Slowly, Carlie looked up and gave him a sardonic half-smile. She couldn't help it. "Are you trying to make me fat?"

He gave her a smile back. "Hey, the more for me to love, the better, mia bambina."

She let herself go and grinned a little wider. "You speak Italian?"

"Hey, I AM Italian," Al told her with clear pride in his voice.

She grinned. "I am too, but I don't speak it." But then she fell silent, thinking too much again and looking down at herself. "My dad - his name was Amorello. It's Italian."

Al could see the look on her face and his heart fell. "Carlie, look at me." When he gained what he wanted, he looked deep into her eyes but couldn't speak at the look in her eyes. He wasn't about to tell her that he knew what she was feeling. That would be a cruel lie. But neither did he want her to dwell on a past she couldn't change. The only thing he could do was say what he did know.

"You aren't anything like him. You're strong. No matter what name you were born with, you are a Calavicci, through and through. I can tell." He paused for a moment and then gave her a little grin. "Wanna learn how to speak Italian?"

"You would teach me?" She asked carefully, still somewhat downtrodden, "I mean, you're not too busy with work and stuff? Aren't you an engineer?"

"Something like that," he answered. "And I think I can find the time to teach you."

"Something like that," Carlie repeated, "Well, if you're not an engineer, what are you? You sure beat around the bush a lot."

"Someone's got to." He gave her a smile and then looked at his meal, barely touched, before he took a bite and grimaced slightly. "Lasagna's gone cold. Want me to heat your's up?"

"Nah, it's almost better when it's a little colder," and she proved it by nearly inhaling the entire thing in less than five minutes. After the last bite was gone, she sat back and sighed. "That was good."

"Glad you liked it," Al replied, having decided to put up with the meal being colder than he preferred. Putting the now cool casserole dish in his lap, he took it to the kitchen and covered it before putting it in the refrigerator. He was glad to see Carlie gathering the rest of the dishes and putting them in the sink. But when Carlie again asked what he did for a living, he sighed slightly. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Well, do you give up ever either?" She turned it around on him. Seeing the look on his face, she grinned. "Come on, Admiral. Report."

He raised his eyebrow at her words and then smiled with a slight huff of a laugh. "Okay... I work for the United States government on a top secret project that requires the use of both my engineering and command skills."

Carlie laughed, good natured of course. She shook her head and started filling the sink with soapy water. "You're too funny. It's okay if you just tell me you work at some computer lab in the desert or something. I know high tech industry's popular around here. So what do you do? Work for a microchip company? Intel or something like it?"

Al leaned back at her words and looked at her directly. "I wasn't joking."

Carlie stopped the water from pour out of the faucet. Slowly, she turned and looked at him, studying him. "You've got to be. A top secret government project? Who does that sort of thing? It's science fiction. Besides, if you DID work for a so called top secret project, you wouldn't have told me."

"Ah, but I didn't tell you what it was about, did I?" Al countered.

"What does it matter?" Carlie decided to play the game, indulging him or otherwise fishing for more information, "Even if you didn't tell me what it was about, you're not even supposed to acknowledge it's existence. Right? Top secret and all that."

"That's Mission Impossible stuff, darling. The Secretary isn't going to disavow me. Maybe send me to Leavenworth for the rest of my life..."

"Leavenworth?"

Al looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Military Correctional Facility. In other words, prison."

"They'd send a crip to prison?" Carlie wasn't convinced.

Al lowered his eyelids at her choice of words. "First and foremost, for a person who beat the tar out of someone for using that word, you sure like to use it yourself. Second, they'd lock me up and throw away the key in a heartbeat if I told you or anyone else what I know."

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when Carlie received that dark look from her uncle's eyes. She immediately regretted her wording. "Sorry. It's habit. I wasn't thinking."

Getting a heartfelt apology from her, Al couldn't stay upset for long. He smiled at her gently. "Apology accepted. Even I say things I don't mean. Sue me, I'm human." He looked around the kitchen for a moment. "Now... where are those ice cream dishes?"


	8. Deadly Desert

Chapter Eight by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

It was a good experience for both Carlie and Al, to stay at home and get away from stress and unwanted confrontations. Even better for the time to learn each other and bond. Carlie was finally beginning to open up and dare herself to like Al. Al automatically found himself doing the same. It was almost as if they each had something the other needed.

Carlie eventually went back to school, and Al went back to the project. Finally, things were looking brighter for the lonely Admiral. Despite the project still being in the middle of a spectacular mess at work. Confrontations with Sam were nonexistent. Sam would always leave before Al had a chance to approach him. The dance was the same for an entire month. And then things got very strange.

It was late at night. Most of everyone who lived at the project were already in their quarters. The halls were dimly lit and nearly complete. Most of Ziggy was finally put together. Sam was once again gazing at the panel on the office level, working on the touch screen mechanically.

Al had been hard at work in his office when he looked up at the time and decided that getting something to eat wasn't a bad idea, especially since his stomach had been growling at him for the last hour or so. Finishing the report he was reviewing before sending it to the Committee, he rolled out of the office and then down the hallway. Finding Sam standing at the panel Al had worked so hard to repair, he frowned slightly.

"Something wrong?"

Sam ignored him, or didn't hear him. His hands flew across the screen, punching in codes with an almost eerie concentration. He moved files from one side of the screen to another, and constantly tapped the telemail button to an unknown IP address.

"Sam?" Al questioned again. Getting no response, he frowned. "Earth to Sam, are you reading me? Come on, Sam. I at least deserve to get a response or something."

Suddenly, Sam stopped. He was finished with all that he transfered to the unknown IP. He blanked the screen, which was taken over by a psychedelic bubble screen saver. Strangely and eerily, he turned to look at Al. There was a smile on his face that was not his own.

"Al. How are you, Al?" He asked in a sadistically pleasant voice.

Al looked at Sam with questioning, not sure that he liked the look in his eyes. "I'm fine. How are you? You look a little... wigged out there... for a moment."

At that, Sam lowered his gaze a bit. His smile turned into a grin, something reminiscent of sick pleasure in a kill. "How's Carlie?" He asked quietly.

"She's fine," Al replied, getting a certain prickly feeling in the back of his neck that was telling him that something was terribly wrong.

"Teenagers - can be unpredictable," Sam said, stepping closer to Al, "I wouldn't be too sure of that, if I were you."

Al's frown increased as did his anxiety. He knew he and Carlie had come to an agreement and he also now trusted her enough to know that she wouldn't do anything stupid. But the way Sam was looking at him... "What do you know?" he asked with a low voice. That prickly sensation was now on the verge of becoming an anxiety attack.

Sam began to step away from Al, about to leave him in the hall alone. But before he left, he turned and said, "I know - that the desert is a very large place."

Al stared with confusion as Sam walked away. There was a seriously ominous tone to the physicist's words, a tone Al had never heard in his voice before. For the first time in his life, Sam's voice scared the hell out of him. And the words he said... Gritting his teeth, he followed Sam quickly down the hall, searching for the scientist's office before slamming the door open. "What did you do to her?" he demanded bluntly.

Sam spun around quickly, looking confused for a moment, but genuinely afraid and concerned. "What? Al! What are you talking about?" He looked around the office, looking as if he wondered how he got there. Pressing a hand to his head, he looked at Al again.

"I think - I think I've been gone, Al. What day is it?" He asked.

"Don't give me that bullshit Swiss-cheese crap! What have you done to Carlie?"

Sam shook his head, "Carlie? I haven't done anything to her. What's going on? Why am I so disoriented? This isn't right. Something happened. I don't remember how I got to this office."

Al's anger and worry seemed to come to a head. "Damn it, Beckett! If you hurt her... I'll kill you. I swear I will."

At that, Sam approached him, gripping his shoulders and looking into his eyes. He was serious. Dead seriously. "Al. You have to listen to me. Something happened and someone leaped into me. I wasn't here. I don't know for how long. If they mentioned Carlie, then we should find her. You have to listen to me! I would never hurt her. But we have to find her."

Al looked into Sam's eyes... and saw a face he hadn't seen in too long. His best friend was there and that hinky feeling Al had felt for so long around Sam was gone. "She's... she's in the desert somewhere. You... you were... you said that the desert was a very large place." Tears started to form in his eyes.

Sam let his face show his concern. He had been so cold for three years. There was no time to think on his guilt. He had to help and make it up to his friend. He had a feeling that something horrible lay ahead of them.

"It is. We don't have time. Come on." He went on ahead, hoping Al would follow him to his Jeep.

Al swallowed tightly before he proceeded to follow. After all that he and Sam had gone through in the last three years, he wasn't sure what to think anymore. But he did know that there was one thing that never changed with Sam and he was kicking himself mentally for thinking otherwise: Sam Beckett cares about people. He may not show it at times but he cares.

"How are we going to find her?" Al asked, his heart pounding with fear of them being too late. "She could be anywhere out there! She could be hurt or... or..." He didn't want to think of that last possibility. After all, if Al was going to trust Sam this far, going to believe that Sam didn't harm Carlie, that could only mean that Sam had been leaped into and that the leaper could have gone as far as murdering his niece.

"I think I have an idea where she might be," said Sam, getting into the elevator. He held the door open for Al before they began their ascent to the surface, "I can only remember a little from when I was in - their waiting room . . . Something about a crescent."

Al frowned at his words. "A crescent?" he questioned, try to think what that could be. However, his mind could only focus on Carlie and whether or not she was even alive. Don't think that way! he berated himself. She's alive! She has to be! "What if she isn't?" he murmured without realizing it, the fear of losing her clear in his voice.

Knowing him as long as he has, Sam understood what the question meant. He looked at Al, his eyes sincere. "She's alive," he said.

They came to the surface and rushed toward Sam's Jeep. The problem became dreadfully apparent when Al rolled up next to the passenger side of the vehicle. The seat was far too high for a paraplegic to transfer into.

Seeing that it wasn't going to be possible for him to transfer himself into Sam's Jeep, Al really had only two options: have Sam put him in the Jeep for him or follow Sam in his car. Since time wasn't exactly on their side, Al made a decision. "Where are we going? You go ahead of me, I'll follow."

Sam took a breath. "Al. It'll take longer for you to transfer into your car, get your chair in their, and follow me. I hope you'll forgive me for this later," and without waiting for a reply, he scooped Al up in his arms, despite protests, and plopped him in the passenger seat.

Indignant but forgiving, especially since he couldn't help but admit that Sam was right, Al exhaled. "Well, don't forget the chair. There is no way in hell I'm spending the entire time in this contraption of yours." He didn't have to worry too much about that. Sam had already put the chair in the back before Al had even finished his complaint. It wasn't long before they were on the road.

Al's eyes scanned the desert as they drove, desperately looking for a sign, any sign, of Carlie. What he saw, though, was making him nervous to say the least. And his breathing and mutterings only reflected that nervousness. "Where is she? Where is she?" he kept repeating in a low tone.

"Crescent," Sam said to himself, thinking, "What does that mean? Does that mean anything to you?"

Sam's words broke through Al's mini-mantra, making him focus on the word, repeating it under his breath until...

"Oh, God, no," he whispered. "The ridge. There's a crescent shaped gap in the floor on the ridge big enough that someone could easily fall into it if they aren't looking. It goes several feet deep."

Sam's breathing became shallow from the severe anxiety he suddenly felt. He drove on towards that place - the ridge. A ravine that was nearly 100 feet deep. If Carlie was thrown down that, there was little to no chance that she would be alive. But that was something he dare not speak yet.

There was a chance.

The Jeep skidded to a halt just before the familiar ravine, dust billowing behind them and up into the starlit sky. "I'll go look," he said.

"Not without me, you're not," Al told him bluntly, turning around to retrieve his chair. When Sam began to protest, Al turned and gave him a glare that would make the President of the United States twitch. "She's my niece, Beckett. I'm not going to just sit idly in this damned car and wait."

There was hardly time to argue. While he got the wheelchair out for Al, and set it next to the passenger side, he said, "Do you really think you'll be able to get around in this terrain?"

"I was able to get around in that complex with all that debris lying in the way, wasn't I?"

Without a second thought, Sam transfered Al into the chair, give Al the chance to adjust himself while Sam went ahead. The taller man called out Carlie's name, hoping to hear an answer. He walked along the edge of the ravine, carrying the flashlight he'd gotten from the back of the Jeep. He looked down the edge, hoping to see a glimpse of the girl.

Al followed as quickly as he could and then locked the wheelchair in place as he leaned forward to look down the ravine. But when he didn't hear Carlie answering to Sam's call, his fears grew. The ravine was practically pitch black, with Sam's flashlight being the only light to see by. That alone would make it nearly impossible to even see your own hand in front of your eyes.

But even as Al was about to open his mouth to assist in Sam's calling for Carlie, a realization came to him. If the leaper had thrown Carlie into that ravine and she was alive - Al prayed harder than he could remember that Carlie was alive - she'd be hurt and she'd be frightened, especially of Sam, since to her it would have been Sam who had put her in the position she found herself.

"Sam..." Al called out to him, silencing him. "I'll call for her, you look."

Sam looked back at Al, and nodded. While Al began to call, Sam would flash the light down. Eventually, they arrived to the deepest part of the ravine. Upon calling her name, hope filled their hearts when a small cough answered.

"Al?" echoed a girl's voice from below.

Al exhaled with relief at the sound of the frightened voice. At least a voice meant she was alive. "Honey, I'm right here! We're going to get you out. Where are you, baby?" He knew Carlie hated being called baby but he couldn't help it. All he could think of was that he needed to find her and get her out of this situation. "Talk to me, honey."

"I'm here!" she called back. Sam rushed to Al's side and shined the flashlight down. There, 20 feet below them on a ledge that jutted out from the rock face, was Carlie. Her leg was twisted at an odd angle, but without a closer look, there was no telling how hurt she was.

The girl was strong and had taken beatings from her father. She had learned not to cry so easily. But facing death as she almost did proved to much. She looked up at the light and sobbed, "Get me out! Please, hurry!"

"I will, honey! I will!" Al called down to her before turning to Sam. "I saw a rope in that Jeep of yours. Pull that thing up and get me down to her." When Sam started to protest, Al gave him a hard look. "One of us has to go down there to get her. Who do you think she's going to trust? Me or the man she thinks put her in that situation in the first place?"

There was a time and place for discussion and that moment wasn't it. Sam said nothing as he ran back to his Jeep and pulled out the rope that Al had indicated. He hurried back to Al, rope in hand, and handed one end of it to the Admiral.

"Al?" Sam began timidly, tearfully, "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" Al asked as he tied the rope around his chest, giving enough slack to make it comfortable but not too much for him to slip out of it.

Sam shook his head, "Everything. Never mind. Just get her out of there." He held the other end of rope, tying it to his waist and proceeded to anchor himself to the ground.

"Make sure that rope is secured to your Jeep," Al told him as he lowered himself from his wheelchair to the ground. "It wouldn't do if we both go over the edge. And you have to remember that you'll be bringing two of us up and I can't exactly use my legs to help you out. It's all up to you to get us up out of there." Forcing his legs over the side of the ledge, he looked up at the man he was trusting with his and Carlie's lives. "Ready?"

"As ready as I can," Sam replied. At that, he slowly eased his friend over the sandy rock edge of the ravine. He skidded slightly, but forced his anchor again.

Carlie watched from below, her vision blurred with tears. She was cold, and in pain, and horribly scared. She didn't even know if the ledge she had fortunately landed on was going to hold much longer.

Al felt his way down the rocky surface to the girl, talking the entire time, reassuring her of his presence as he descended. Feeling the ledge just below him, he shouted up, "Okay, stop there!" and used what little leeway he had to pull himself onto the ledge, his back against the rock face.

"Hey, sweetie," he said in a calming voice. "This is what we're going to do. I'm going to put this rope around you and then I want you to hold on tightly to it and let my friend up there pull you up. You just keep your eyes closed until you hear my voice beside you. Okay?"

"Al," she choked, "Al, my leg . . . I can't move it. It'll hurt. I think it's broken." She blindly reached for his hand, clenching her teeth against the pain, "Oh, god, it hurts."

Al gripped her hand tightly and found her hair. "I know, honey. I know. And I wish I could do something about that right now. We've got to get you someplace safe first." Reaching down, he carefully gets the rope off of himself. "I'm gonna put this rope around you, honey. I need you to be brave for just a little longer. I'll be right behind you. I promise."

Carlie swallowed. She was so tired and the pain in her leg, while it had numbed over time, was starting to sting and shoot white hot up her body. As best as she could, she tried to ignore it. The moment they began to be lifted from the ledge, she screamed from the pain and pressed herself against her uncle.

Holding Carlie tightly against him with one arm, his free hand making sure that they didn't hit any protrusions, Al murmured gently to her. "It's okay, honey. Everything's going to be okay." Feeling her tears seep into his shirt, he tightened his grip on her even as the ledge came upon them.

Sam was sweating by the time he got them over the edge. Once he knew they were safe on the surface, he rushed over to Carlie. She was barely able to concentrate, the source of her pain being obvious. The bottom portion of her right leg had suffered a severe compound fracture. Sam told Al as much.

"We have to get her back to the infirmary," he said, "At the project."

Al nodded in agreement, holding Carlie close to him as she cried. After a moment, he shushed her gently, encouraging her to look at him despite the pain. "Honey, my friend is going to pick you up and put you in his Jeep so that we can get your leg fixed up," he told her gently. He saw the growing panicked look in her eyes. "It's okay. I'm going to be right there just as soon as I can."

Swallowing her pain, Carlie was transfered to the Jeep. Along side her came Al, and Sam was able to take them both back to Project Quantum Leap's infirmary.

Once there, Sam took care of Carlie's leg, setting it as best as he could. She had passed out from a dose of morphine and Sam was able to clean off most of the dirt from her face.

After all was said and done, Carlie was put into a bed and let alone to rest. Sam sank into a chair outside her room, next to Al.

"It's - almost surreal. Everything that's happened. It was too fast. Too sudden and strange, and horrifying to be real. Al, I'm so sorry for any pain you endured while I was gone," he stopped and thought a moment before hanging his head, "And even while I was still here."

Al was truly amazed how calmly Carlie was taking the situation, given who it was who was tending to her broken leg. But then again, she had to have been in a lot of pain and in shock of the whole situation. Heck, he was barely able to even leave her side, her not wanting him to leave her for even an instant. He was only thankful that she was fitfully asleep, thanks to a shot of morphine, when Sam finally sat down beside him.

"Hey, you weren't the one who hurt Carlie and she's going to recover just fine. That's all that matters right now," Al told him plainly.

"I'm worried about that leg," Sam said, "But she'll live, yes. Thank god."

"The leg's going to be okay, right?" Al questioned, hearing Sam's concern.

"It's a bad break," he finally relented, "I could only do so much. In the morning, we can transfer her to the hospital in the city. I'm not sure, but - she may lose it."

Al closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face. "Great," he muttered sarcastically before exhaling roughly. "Will anything ever be normal again?"

At that, Sam took a moment to think. That gentle tenor voice finally spoke up softly when he looked up at his friend, "It can be."

Al looked over to him, looking at him with exhausted eyes, a look that said that a heavy weight was on his shoulders, one that had been there for far too long. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Sam swallowed and nodded, "I think so." But he said nothing else. He indicated the door next to them and said, "You should go in and see her."

"She's asleep," Al said gently. "She needs her rest."

The good doctor, to the seventh power, nodded and felt like a child in front of his older friend. His heart, which beat against his chest like a drum, felt heavy and sad and cried out. He didn't hesitate then, to take Al into a very strong hug.

Startled for only a moment, Al exhaled silently before reciprocating the hug. He never was one to reveal his emotions easily. Sam always was. And in that hug, Sam said everything that he needed to say. In his own way, Al said everything that he needed to say to Sam with his own hug back. After a long moment, Al pulled away from Sam, swallowing down his emotions. "Think... think I could take up residence in there for the night? Just until we get her safely into the city?"

With a slight and sad smile, Sam nodded and said, "Of course."

Al returned the smile and started for the door behind which his niece lay. But before he went through the door, he looked over his shoulder to the man who had, in Al's opinion, saved the most precious thing in Al's life. "Thanks, kid."


	9. Boy Scout Sam

Chapter Nine by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Carlie was transfered to Alamogordo hospital the next morning. Given the best care in the building, the doctors treating her were able to save the severely broken leg. Al couldn't have been more relieved. The dedicated Admiral stayed with her the whole time, and she was discharged that day with a cast up to her knee and a pair of crutches.

Sam, on the other hand, had things to settle in his own home. His son and wife were not home. Al had to inform him that they had left town for a couple weeks. After being filled in on the sort of behavior Sam was seen to demonstrate, the real Sam wasn't surprised. He was at least given the promise that they would come back. It was his turn to wait, he supposed.

With an empty house and much catching up to do, Sam was able to get permission to stay with Al for a while. He figured his friend could use the help in taking care of his niece. So he packed some clothes and claimed the couch.

Al really didn't mind having the extra company. He figured Sam was going to get lonely pretty fast in that empty house of his. While Al didn't have a spare bedroom, he could attest to the comfortable rest that the couch gave. And having Sam nearby in case there was an emergency with Carlie didn't hurt in the least. Or so Al thought at the time. Even though the doctor's were able to save Carlie's leg, there was no doubt that once the cast came off, Carlie would be walking with a limp for the rest of her life. While Al's heart dropped at that thought, at least he knew his niece would be able to walk fairly unhindered. That is, after the cast was gone.

Seeing Sam claim the couch, Al wheeled around towards the hallway. "Firm pillow, right?" he questioned, remembering the times he and Sam had shared a hotel room.

It was only the first night in Al's home, and Sam was already feeling uncomfortable. Not unwanted or unwelcomed, but really out of place. Briefly distracted with looking around the spacious living room, he snapped back into reality at the sound of Al's voice.

"Oh, ah. Yes. That's fine. Thanks, Al." He nodded, then he turned and went back to looking at a few pictures on the wall. They were new.

"Thought as much," Al commented to Sam's approval of the pillow type, pulling down said pillow from the hall closet before retrieving a couple of blankets and a sheet. Rolling back into the living room, he put the blankets and pillows to the side before shaking out the sheet. "You used to sleep with two pillows in hotel rooms because they just didn't raise your head high enough, remember?"

Sam smiled slightly, nodding mostly to himself. "Yeah, I remember. But then, you'd always tease me and tell me I needed extra pillows for my huge egg head." The tense feelings were practically thick in the air, like humidity. Despite their reminiscing, Sam didn't want to turn to see his friend.

All the horrible old guilt was slowly seeping back into him now that the adrenaline didn't block it out. Hearing the wheels along the tile and not footsteps was still painful. But Sam just knew that Al would notice sooner than later. Knowing Al, it was bound to be sooner.

Al, in the meantime, laid out the sheet on the couch and tucked it into place before spreading out the two blankets and the pillow. "Well, at least my couch is more comfortable than some of those beds we slept on." Turning, he moved into the kitchen and started pulling out pots and pans. "Tea while I fix something edible? I know Carlie's stomach is probably doing a rendition of the 1812 Overture about now."

Boy Scout Beckett jumped into action. If he was trying not to wallow in guilt and misery, the best way to distract himself was to keep busy. What better way to do that than to help around the house in which he was a guest.

"I can do that," Sam said, smiling slightly and marching into the kitchen without knowing where a damn thing was. He scoured the cupboards for tea, barely aware of his Italian friend staring at him incredulously.

After a long moment of watching Sam looking in every possible cabinet for the tea, Al finally found a voice. "Am I having the Energizer Bunny as my house guest?" he questioned aloud, getting a confused look from his friend. "Because you are bouncing around worse than a rubber ball in a racketball court."

Sam ceased his search for the moment, his hands finding his pockets as he gave Al a nervous half-smile. "Well, you know, I just thought I should help. Don't feel right staying over and - not helping," his own words nearly confused him, and it showed his face for a split second. He looked around, "So . . . where's the tea again?"

"Pantry cabinet door, behind you and on the left," Al told him and then watched Sam turn and find the tea as he was instructed. Shaking his head, Al then began preparing a simple meal for dinner. He had already been told by Carlie's doctor that she should stay clear of anything that might upset her stomach - less chance of having to have to rush for the bathroom - and to focus on health foods. Al figured a simple chicken and rice casserole would do the trick.

"I can help with dinner too, so you don't need to worry," said Sam as he filled a tea kettle with water, "How's Carlie doing anyway?"

At that moment, Carlie's voice filtered into the kitchen from her bedroom, "Hey, Al?"

"Speaking of which..." Al commented and then turned to leave the kitchen. "And keep your nose out of my pots and pans. I'm making dinner, not you. Go sit and enjoy a cup of tea. Better yet, two cups of tea." Getting another call from his niece, he called out in return. "Your knight errant is coming, my lady!"

Carlie was laying in bed when her uncle came in through the door. She groaned extravagantly and reached out her hands to him, "Drugs, please! Please, much with the drugging."

Al gave her a gentle smile. "Okay, Miss Over-dramatic," he teased her slightly. Seeing, however, that she was definitely in some pain, he brushed her hair. "I'll be back with the meds and a glass of water." It didn't take him long to get the water and the prescription, tucking both of them between his legs so that he could return to Carlie's room with ease. Putting the water on the nightstand beside her bed, he opened the bottle and got out one pill, handing it to her. "Sit up," he encouraged, giving her the water to wash the pill down.

She took the pill and the water, looking at both of them with a sad expression. She looked at Al and asked, "Just one?"

"That's what the prescription says, darling. Trust me, one is all you'll need," Al told her. "Go on. Swallow it and empty that glass so I can go back and prevent Beckett from taking over my kitchen."

Carlie sniffed the air, detecting a distinct burning aroma in the air. "Al, I think you're too late." She said matter-of-fact.

Al groaned slightly at the now obvious scent of burnt chicken. "Sam," he growled under his breath. "If it's not eggs or cereal, he can't cook a damned thing." He gave Carlie a pointed look. "Pill. Water. Now. Then lay down and rest, just like Doc Larent ordered." Turning and leaving the bedroom, Al wheeled into the kitchen. "Just what in blazes are you attempting to burn at the stake?"

"Oh, god," Sam exclaimed, rushing over the pot of rice and lifting it from the heat, "The rice. Damn. Sorry. I never did know how to make it right."

Al forced himself not to yell. After all, Sam was trying to help. But even Sam knew better than to interfere in Al's kitchen. That was one rule Al had put into stone the moment they had become friends. "Sam..." He pointed towards the living room. "Out." To Sam's startled expression, Al clarified. "The kitchen is my sanctuary and you're desecrating it at this moment. So, please, just go drink your tea and let me do the cooking. You can do breakfast in the morning if you are so inclined but the culinary arts of lunch and dinner, other than the cold sandwich, isn't your forte. So, out."

"But, I," Sam began to protest, but the look Al gave him made him stop. He tried to smile, putting down the smoking pot onto a cold burner, "Right. I'll - go now. Tea."

Sam went towards the living room, but turned just before leaving the kitchen and asked, "You need any help with something else? Not cooking, obviously?"

"No, thanks. I've got everything under control," Al called back to him. "No," he muttered as he put the scorched pan in the sink to soak. Turning towards the box of rice that sat on the counter, he frowned at how light it was. Giving it a good shake, he groaned. "Brilliant, Beckett," he murmured lowly. "There goes the possibility of casserole. Sighing, he looked around the kitchen, rethinking his dinner options.

Sam hesitated in leaving, watching the flustered Admiral lean his hands on the counter in thought. A few tense moments passed before Sam found the courage to speak again, "You sure?"

Al turned his head and looked at Sam, who stood in the archway to the kitchen. "Yeah, I'm sure. Just... restrategizing." He frowned for a moment. "Is that a word?"

Sam smiled slightly, "I don't think so. But you always were creative with your vocabulary." He scratched his head, "I could help with Carlie, if you want."

Al hesitated for a moment. "That's up to her, Sam. She's resting right now and I've already given her a pill for the pain so those are pretty much taken care of."

"Right," Sam sighed, nodding. He was beginning to get discouraged. There didn't seem to be much for him to do. "Well, we could order a pizza. On me."

"Well..." Al sighed softly, feeling weary all of a sudden. It had already been a busy day with getting Carlie out of the hospital and then going by Sam's house to collect his things for the weekend. That was enough in Al's opinion. But the burnt rice... was the last chink in his weakening armor. "Sure, what the hell," he finally said, throwing the chicken back into the freezer. "I'm exhausted anyway."

"You're exhausted?" Sam asked, taking out his cell phone. He stopped and studied Al briefly, concerned. "Are you okay? I mean, every thing that's happened must be tough for you. Do you think you should rest?"

"It's just been a busy day, that's all," Al told him. "I'll be fine. The hamsters in my brain just need a rest."

Sam approached his friend cautiously and knelt, "But what about your body, Al?"

Al's eyelids lowered at his words. "What about it?"

"Al. You know you can't push yourself to the same extremes you used to when I was still leaping. You've got take care of yourself. You're not . . ." He trailed off, uncertain.

Al folded his arms and raised his chin, giving Sam a hard look. "I'm not what, Sam?"

"Uh, well, you know," Sam fumbled, standing again, "Al, you have a spinal cord injury. It's not good for you to be up in your chair so long for a lot of reasons. Your back must be killing you. And what about pressure sores? Do you check for those? Or do you even bother? Or your cath regiment? UTI's are dangerous too..."

"So that's it..." Al growled. "You don't think I'm capable of taking care of myself, even if I have been doing just fine for the last three years, or capable of taking care of a sixteen year old girl with a broken leg."

"No, that's not it. I know you're capable. Of course, I know you are. Everything you've ever gone through in life has taught you how to survive. But I know how you can ignore your own health too," Sam defended, "Even you can't deny that. I'm just worried about you, that's all. I've ignored you and avoided you for far longer than I'd care to admit. I just - I wanna make it up to you, Al."

Al exhaled slowly, his feathers smoothed slightly by Sam's words. "You can start by not mother-henning me, Sam. I appreciate that you care. And you're right. Sometimes I do ignore my own health. But I didn't say yes to you staying here because I need a doctor in the house. I want my friend, not a physician. Okay?"

Sam crumbled internally, his whole body slumping. He sat down at a dining room chair and covered his face. "I still can't handle it. I tried to ignore it but I can't, Al."

"It's been three years, Sam!" Al exclaimed, following him closer to the chair. "I'm still the same guy, aren't I? I still tell off-colored jokes that will make your hair blush, I still can MacGyver practically anything electronic..."

"That's not the point. You have no idea what I feel, and it's not about you. It's about what you remind me of, okay? I did that to you. I put you in that chair," He turned his head to look at Al. There were tears threatening to spill, "You can't walk because of me."

"Sam..." Al started, finally understanding everything that was running through his friend's mind. When Sam turned away, Al ordered, "Look at me." Sam didn't obey so Al repeated the order more firmly, getting results at last. "I am in this wheelchair because of that bastard who shot me, not because of you. And if we had to go through that whole thing again, other than getting that guy before he pulled the damned trigger, I wouldn't change a thing."

The hairs on the back of Sam's neck raised with each word his friend uttered. He looked down at the table, letting tears finally spill. "God, no. It's too painful. You saved my life, and I would've done the same for you. I want to help you, Al."

Al hesitated, getting a hinky feeling in the pit of his stomach with Sam's words. He knew his friend only too well. He knew what Sam meant by helping him. Al wasn't about to let what Sam was thinking become a reality. THAT would be too painful for Al, worse than the pain of that bullet hitting his back.

"You really want to help, Sam?" he said gently, getting Sam's attention. "Then order the pizza while I go see if I can scrounge up some beer and soda from the garage."

Sam watched Al leave and managed to pull himself together long enough to order a medium handtossed with extra cheese and pepperoni. They drank the beer and ate the pizza while watching some nonsensical reality show on television, but neither of them paid much attention to the show.

"Al. About what happened while I was - gone." Sam began carefully, "Whoever was in my place sent a lot of our work to someone or someplace."

Al was thinking mostly about how he was going to save several pieces for Carlie, so that she would have something to eat when she woke up, when Sam dropped his bombshell. "How much of our work? Did you figure out who or where it was sent?"

"I can only guess." Sam said, shaking his head, "A lot of it was transferred. Quantum Accelerator schematics, blueprints, all of your work on holography - my time travel calculations and formulas..."

"Sounds like someone's trying to start a time-travel project of their own. But that doesn't make much sense with a leaper stealing that information."

"The leaper didn't steal it. They only gained access to my personal files and sent it electronically to some unknown IP address. And I think I know who it was." Sam looked at Al very seriously, "Ever wonder where Alia and Zoe came from?"

"Technically, Sam, it's still stealing. And, to be quite honest, I never gave it a second thought. A first thought, yes. That's why I changed all the passwords and clearance codes after that first leap."

"Yen Hiroshi leaped into me, Al. I know it," Sam said quietly, "And it wasn't the first time he's leaped."

"Yen Hiroshi?" Al questioned with a frown. "And just exactly how did he leap into you without an Accelerator Chamber?" When Sam mentioned the schematics, Al shook his head. "That's a grandfather paradox, Sam. Using that thinking, Yen can't have leaped without stealing the schematics but he couldn't steal the schematics without leaping. If he is leaping, he got that Accelerator elsewhere and he's got an agenda with those schematics."

"Maybe he built a prototype that just barely worked. And maybe they didn't have an imaging chamber. Did you see him talking to himself? Ever?"

Al hesitated before he immediately replied, thinking about Sam's words. "No," he finally answered. "But he did seem... unusually focused." "Meaning?" Sam pressed gently. Al looked at his friend. "You know when you get into what I call 'genius-at-work mode'? Well, his focus was more drastic than even that."

Sam took a breath. "He might have done more damage than we think, Al."

"Oh, this gets even better!" Al said sarcastically, the idea of eating anything far removed from his mind.

Sam ignored the sarcasm. "I think he's the one that shot you."

Al was silent for a long moment at Sam's words. "I see. Well... at least we know now that Banes is innocent."

"Al!" Sam said, standing and towering over his friend, "He leaped into me using a primitive acceleration design, he stole the work of nearly the entire project, leaped into Banes, tried to kill me but shot you instead, then sent Alia and Zoe on missions to destroy our work even further! You can't honestly tell me you don't care about any of it. We've worked to hard and suffered too much."

"I didn't say I didn't care, Sam," Al countered calmly to Sam's vehemence. "I do care. But at the moment, I haven't a clue what to do about it. Don't worry. Between you and me, we'll come up with something." Seeing the look in Sam's eyes, he continued. "Something rational and not half-baked."

Sam said nothing. He bit his lip and nodded. "Alright, Al. We'll think of something. But in the morning, huh? I'm pretty tired. And you should sleep too."

"I need to check on Carlie and get the leftovers in the frig," Al said, rubbing his face before he started gathering the pizza box and the empty beer bottles.

"I'll do that." Sam took the box and bottles from Al. "You go ahead."

Al shook his head but didn't stop Sam from his actions. "I need to... ummm... do my exercises... and..." he winced slightly, unable to stop the slight groan of pain.

"What? What's wrong?" Without a second thought, Sam put down his load and went to his friend.

"Sat too long, I think," Al murmured, keeping his eyes closed. "Sometimes I'll get ghost pains where that bullet went in. They're... nothing..."

"Like hell they are. Come on." And without waiting for any kind of permission, Sam grabbed the handle-less back of Al's chair pushed him right into the Admiral's bedroom. "You are so stubborn, I wonder how you manage to get any kind of sense into your head at all."

"Same kind of sense you get into your head, Beckett," Al said through clenched teeth. He wasn't going to argue with him over the rights to his own mobility.

"You going to transfer, or do you want me to do it for you?" Sam asked condescendingly.

Al gave him a dirty look at his question but didn't comment. Instead, he started transferring from his chair to the bed.

"DAMMIT TO HELL!" he screamed before he was even on the bed, his strength lost to the agony that screamed up his spine, sending him towards the floor.

Carlie was startled by the two men bantering before. The vicodin doesn't do a very good job to inducing sleep as opposed to a dream like state. Leaving her crutches behind, she hopped unsteadily into her uncle's room. There she saw Al on the floor in a compromised position and Sam standing over him with the most surprised look on his face.

"What the hell is going on?" She asked. "What did you do to him, you bastard!"

"Nothing, Carlie. He just fell." Sam defended. Carlie hopped forward and reached the end of Al's bed.

"Like hell he did!"

Al raised his hand against Carlie's angry statement, trying hard to get his breathing - and the agony - under control. But he found myself breathing even harder as he forced himself to speak. "It's... okay, Carlie. It's... not him." He gritted his teeth tightly, a pained sound escaping his lips as he tried to get a grip on his chair to pull himself back into it. Seemed, however, that that wasn't going to happen anytime soon when his quiet pained sound became another scream of pain. "SHIT!"

"Al, let me get you into bed, okay?" Sam suggested, starting to bend down to pick Al up.

"I can do it!" Al shouted at him, taking his frustration out on Sam and his offer.

Sam began to protest, but Al continued to shoot him down. Carlie watched both of them with a sort of morbid fascination. She had never seen Al in such a predicament, and there was a twisting knot in her stomach at the sight of him being - helpless. He said he could do it . . . "Then do it," Carlie said finally, quietly.

With a hard swallow, Al tried again to get back into his chair but another wave of agony assaulted him, actually bringing tears to his eyes. Leaning his head against the side of his bed, he turned his face away from the two most important people in his life, not wanting either of them to see just how much he was in pain.

"Al," Sam said gently, kneeling next to him and touching his shoulder, "Please, let me help you."

"Leave him alone," Carlie said, "Don't you think you've hurt us enough?" She hopped over to the uncle she had quickly grown so fond of, and took his shaking hand.

Feeling his niece's hand holding his, he knew that there was one thing that he wanted more than anything in this life at this moment and, surprisingly, it wasn't for the pain to go away. It was for Carlie and Sam to get along. "No, Carlie... he's right... I can't do it... It hurts too much." He took a shaking breath. "It's not his fault I'm a stubborn bastard."

Carlie narrowed her eyes toward Sam, making the scientist shrink slightly away from them. "Maybe not, but a lot of other things are."

"Carlie, I'm sorry," Sam said, but the girl ignored him. She struggled to stand and balance on her left foot.

"I can help you, Al. You don't need rocket boy here."

Al looked up into Carlie's eyes and saw the reasoning for her own stubbornness, saw the hatred she felt for Sam and the concern she felt for her uncle. He squeezed her hand lovingly. "He didn't hurt you, baby," he whispered to her. "We're going to get the guy who did. I promise." Clearly, she didn't believe him. "Beside, you try to help me, you're going to hurt your leg even more. Hell, you shouldn't be hopping around without your crutches. Let Sam help me and I'll tell you exactly what I do for a living."

Having been given the 'ok', Sam Beckett, Boy Scout extraordinare, lifted his ailing friend onto the bed. He hoped that some relief would come to him, and quickly left the room without so much as a 'goodnight'.

Carlie stayed and watched the doctor go, but her attention was quickly averted back to Al on the bed. "Al, what happened?"

Laying flat on his back wasn't easing the pain as much as Al had hoped. While it wasn't agonizing anymore, it was still there, making him wince in reaction to it. As for Carlie's demanding question, he took a deep breath and exhaled. "Sat too long," he told her bluntly. "And ghost pains." Getting a questioning look from her, he clarified. "Occasionally, I'll get a terrible pain where I was shot. Usually, I can ride them out but... it's never hurt like this before, to where I can't hardly move."

Carlie didn't do a very good job of hiding her concern. She fingered the dark blue fabric of Al's shirt, gazing at him up and down - analyzing him. "Maybe - you should go on your side?" She sniffed.

"Maybe..." he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at her and putting on a smile. "I believe I bribed you to let Sam put me in this position. Guess I should make good on that bribe."

"You bribed me?" She asked, "Wow, these drugs are killer. I didn't even notice." Despite the smile she tried to crack for him, it didn't really work. Carefully, she sat on the bed and looked down. "I'm worried, you know? I thought things were great and then this happens. I don't understand a lot of things, but if you couldn't get up from the floor, well - a lot of things crossed my mind."

"Things like Sam was trying to hurt me instead of it being my own stupid damned pride getting in the way?" Al questioned gently.

"Well, yeah," she relented, "Just - I never met someone who was so capable in a wheelchair. And I thought you would be the one to prove to me that there was such a person . . . but now. It's a hard reality to accept."

"Yeah, well, sometimes even the most super-human of us needs a helping hand," Al told her fondly before wincing at a sharp pain. "Giving up faith on me?"

"Not really," she grinned slightly, "Just thinking about stuff. Wondering some stuff. How are you feeling now, anyway? Better?"

Al exhaled slowly. "Still hurts like hell but at least it doesn't feel as if someone's ripping out my backbone with their bare hands anymore." He smiled at her. "And I still owe you an explanation of what I do for a living. That was my bribe."

"Oh, yeah! Gosh, I forgot about that." She made herself comfortable on Al's bed, laying next to him with her head propped up. "Okay, I'm ready. What do you do?"

Here goes my pension, Al thought for a brief moment. However, he knew that if Carlie were to trust Sam, she needed to know that Sam wasn't the man who threw her into a ravine. "I'm the Executive Director for a top secret time travel project which is currently being reconstructed after the original project was sabotaged by a leaper... a time traveler." He completely understood the disbelief on her face.

If Carlie's mouth could hang open any wider, it would have to be reattached with a couple of bolts. "You're joking!" She accused. The look on his face was steady and serious. She frowned, "You're not joking?"

Al didn't answer the question directly but continued his explanation. "The project's name is Quantum Leap. We call time travelers 'leapers'. Our project went a little ca-ca when Sam tried to leap the first time and he wound up being stuck in the past, putting right what went wrong. Since then, we've found out that there is at least one other project out there and one wild card, both of which are putting wrong what went right. They have a beef with me and Sam... and I'm afraid you got in the way, honey. I'm sorry."

Carlie fell back on the pillow, letting out a huge sigh and pondering over the information. "Wow," She breathed, "You're lucky I'm still an impressionable teenager. I actually believe you. I always wanted to believe in time travel. I knew someone out there might have finally done it." She looked at Al, "Can I be a programmer for your project? Oh, that would be so cool."

Al grinned widely, the pain in his back now mostly forgotten at the sight of his niece's bright eyes. "Maybe after you get your doctorate in computer technology," he told her. The thought of Yen throwing her into that ravine took the smile from his face and he found himself shifting his weight slightly to brush her hair. "I was so scared when... when that leaper taunted me about your well-being. If I had lost you..."

Carlie let him show his affection, and even leaned into it a little. "But you didn't lose me, so it's okay now." She smiled at him before attacking him in a full-fledged snuggle-fest. "Io ti voglio bene!"

"Oh, ho!" Al exclaimed. "You mean you are actually studying?" He looked up at the ceiling. "There is a God," he exclaimed, gaining a giggle from the teenager. Turning back to her, he gently kissed her forehead. "Ti amo, mia bambina."


	10. Leap Day

Chapter Ten by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

"Hey, Al?" Carlie asked after a moment, relishing in her uncle's hold on her, "If time travel's possible - then how come someone doesn't go back for you? Stop the guy who shot you, you know?"

Hearing her question, Al sighed softly. "Because leaping is dangerous. You could get yourself killed. At the very least, you might not be able to come back to the present if you don't have a working Retrieval Program." He hesitated. "And because if someone were to go back in time, it would likely be Sam and I don't want him bouncing around in the past again."

Carlie pulled away a bit, not out of spite but just contemplation. She thought about the scenarios that might be possible to fix Al's life. Turning to look at him properly, she bore into his eyes with her gaze. She was serious. "But you could walk again."

"I could I suppose. But sometimes..." He thought about his words carefully before continuing. "Sometimes things happen for a good reason, even supposedly bad things. I'm not sure our relationship would be the same if I could walk. I'm not sure I would be the same. Hell, I know I wouldn't be the same."

Carlie moved to sit in Al's wheelchair. "Well, maybe not. I like you this way, anyway. Besides, I get to borrow this." She tested the wheels on the chair, grinning at him.

Al laughed at her sitting in his chair. "Borrow is the key word, there, bambina. Just remember that I need that to wow your socks off on a daily basis."

"Pff, fine," she huffed, "I'm tired anyway. That vicodin is wowing my socks off at the moment." She stood up, awkwardly balancing on her good leg, and leaned down to kiss her uncle's cheek. "Goodnight - Uncle Al."

Al smiled lovingly up at her. "Night, Carlie. Thanks for distracting me. I'm feeling better already. Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." When she left the room, Al sighed softly. He didn't want to admit how the pains that had forced Sam to be his elevator were becoming more and more common every day. Rubbing his face, he then sat up and started to change out of his clothes, stopping only when he heard the knock on the open door. Raising his eyes, he smiled. "Tucking me in?" he teased his friend. When he saw the concerned look, he frowned. "What's the matter?"

For a moment, Sam didn't know what to say. How could he possibly answer in a way that wouldn't make the man suspicious? He decided. "Just - making sure everything was okay with you before hitting the sack."

Al sighed and shook his head. "When are you going to realize that I can read you like a book, Sam Beckett. Spill it. I can take it."

"I heard you two talking. I won't even begin to lecture you on how telling her about the project could compromise our work," he began, taking a breath, "But she was right."

"Right about what?" Al questioned as he pulled on his pajama top.

"You wouldn't have to dress on the bed anymore," Sam said quietly, "or transfer into a wheelchair just to get to work. You wouldn't have to rely on catheters and bowel programs - God only knows how much you hate even the thought. You don't deserve this, Al."

Al had to admit that the programs weren't his favorite thing in this world that he'd been living in for the past three years. But there were good things that came from his condition. "I wouldn't be the same man, Sam," he told his friend bluntly. "Being forced to cope with being paralyzed has humbled me but it has also made me a stronger person." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Right now, the only thing I want is for you to accept me as Carlie has. It's taken her less than six months. Why is it that three years have passed and you haven't even taken babysteps towards accepting me as I am?"

"I refuse to accept that I was a part of why you are the way you are, okay?" Sam fairly yelled, "I can't. I won't."

"You had nothing to do with it," Al retaliated. "How many times do I have to tell you? I chose to take the bullet. Me. You didn't push me in the way. I stepped in the way." He exhaled hard. "What am I doing? I might as well be talking to a brick wall, for all the good I'm doing." But as he finished his sentence, he sucked in air and closed his eyes tightly, his body suddenly tense.

"Look, I'm sorry for eavesdropping," Sam said, seeing that Al probably wasn't in the mood to talk, "I'll let you get some rest. We can talk more in the morning. Okay?"

"Yeah, yeah... whatever..." Al told him through gritted teeth before gasping. "Oh, god!" he exclaimed in a low but clearly agonized voice.

With an exasperated sigh, Sam marched over to the Admiral's side. He scanned the various bottled of medication sitting on the bedside table and grabbed a couple of which he knew would help. "You should take these and stop being stubborn. Baclofen and Gabapentin. Here." He held out the bottles for Al, "I'll get you some water."

Al reached out and grabbed Sam's arm before he could leave his side. "I've... already taken both of them today..." he gasped at the pain and then looked at Sam with frightened eyes. "Sam, it's never been this bad before. Something's... something's wrong."

The agony that Al was in tore at Sam's heart. Choking back emotion, he gently took Al's hand. The last time he ever even touched the Admiral, he couldn't even remember. Three years ago. Or otherwise a brush in passing.

"I don't know what it could be, Al. SCIs are kinda complicated. It could be muscle spasms, it could nerves acting up. I'd have to examine you. And I know how you hate doctors."

"I've learned to put up with them," Al told him in a whisper, trying hard not to speak too loudly for fear of waking Carlie. The tears were beginning to show again and Al berated himself for his weakness.

Swallowing a lump that formed in his throat, Sam nodded. "Can you turn over onto your stomach? Let me take a look, okay?"

Al nodded briefly, carefully getting into the desired position. "Right now, Carlie's vicodin is looking awfully tempting."

Sam ignored his comment and proceeded to pull up the back of Al's nightshirt. Sam had never seen the scar before. His hands trembled slightly at the sight. It looked like a large dimple, far lighter than the rest of Al's olive complexion. He touched it gently.

"There's plenty more on my back than that, Sam," Al growled, closing his eyes, trying his hardest to block the growing pain. "Please, just get this over with and knock me unconscious."

Logically, the site of the bullet entry would be where the line of Al's paralysis was. So Sam tested the area carefully, gently applying pressure around the spine just above the scar, moving his fingers until he got a painful reaction from the Admiral. It was above the wound, about a half an inch.

Sam bit his lip and lowered the nightshirt, telling him he could turn over again. "Well, you should get rest. I think that's the only thing you can do right now. The Gabapentin would help with the pain. Even if you took it today, I'm allowing you to take another dose. I do have a medical doctorate, after all."

"Sounds fantastic to me," Al told him, getting into a seated position again. He swallowed tightly. "Drug me to the gills, Doc. I don't care if I sleep into the afternoon tomorrow."

The good doctor provided the medication and the water for Al, who took it without a second thought. He then said goodnight and went into the living room to sleep.

Al slept peacefully the whole night through, and most of the morning. It wasn't until noon when he got a phone call, which he gladly ignored.

But the phone rang again. Twice.

Al groaned at the insistent ringing, his hand batting at his nightstand in search of the phone. Finding it, he yanked the receiver from its cradle and put it against his ear, his head still firmly on his pillow. "Calavicci," he muttered into the mouthpiece.

"Admiral! We've been trying to get a hold of you all morning," Gooshie practically bellowed into the phone, frantic.

Al pulled the phone from his ear when it was assaulted by Gooshie's screaming. He winced for a moment at the headache that was building before putting the earpiece back against his ear. "Gooshie..." he sighed. "What's so important that you have to scream in my ear?"

"I think it's best you come to the project, Admiral. Anything I have to say can't be discussed on the phone." Gooshie was nervous. And while that might have been a natural character trait for the small programmer, the fact that it was so prominent in his voice was reason enough for anyone to worry.

It was Gooshie's nervous tone that really got Al's attention. He forced himself onto his back. "What's the matter, Goosh?" he asked with concern.

The nerve-wracked programmer took a shaky breath, trusting that all project staff phone lines were, in fact, secure. "The accelerator's been fired, sir."

If there was one thing that could bring Al completely out of a drug-induced sleep, the news that the Accelerator Chamber had been used was it. "Sam," Al said with complete assurance. "Damn it, he tricked me." He exhaled. "I'll be there within the hour."

"Yes, sir," came the short reply before Al hung up. From the living room, Carlie heard her uncle talk on the phone.

"Who was that?" She called out, nestled into Al's overstuffed arm chair with her laptop computer.

"The last person I need to hear from at this particular moment," Al called back to her, hanging up the phone and sitting up. Transferring to his wheelchair, he collected his robe, slipped it on, and wheeled into the living room. Gathering his keys and wallet, he looked towards Carlie and considered for a moment what to tell her. "Hon, I need to go to work. It's an emergency. I'm not sure how long I'll be and..."

"And you're going in your PJs?" She asked, an eyebrow raised in skepticism at his attire. She shrugged, having been known to wear pink bunny slippers to the grocery story on occasion anyway. "Where's the boy scout, anyway? Did he go back home? Not that I mind..."

"He went and did the most stupid thing he could ever do... AGAIN!" Al growled. "I can't believe this. It's 1989 all over again." Getting a confused look from Carlie, he made his decision concerning her. "Grab a couple of days worth of clothes and anything you want to keep yourself entertained. You're coming with me."

"What?" She exclaimed, but Al's expression told her not to argue. "This is serious, isn't it?" She stood and grabbed her crutches.

Al nodded, his face somber. "Hurry up. We don't have a lot of time."

"Okay, okay, yeesh." She hobbled as fast as she could, stuffing clothes into her backpack with her computer. They were off on the road in less than ten minutes. When they entered the project, avoiding security flak due to Al's authority, Carlie was in awe.

"Holy shit, you weren't kidding!" She said, hobbling along next to her uncle.

"Well, I figured since I told you about it anyway, it wouldn't hurt to have you staying here with me rather than have me drive back and forth and only give you a couple of hours, if you're luck, of my time." He gestured a guard over to him. "Please escort Miss Amorello to my quarters, Corporal." He looked at her pointedly, an unspoken warning in his eyes before he gave her a little smile. "I'll see you later. Hopefully this isn't as disastrous as my insides are telling me."

Unsure but willing to be obedient, Carlie nodded and said, "Okay, Al. See you later. And try not to give yourself a stroke or anything, okay? I still need a guardian for at least three years."

Al waited until Carlie was well on her way before wheeling to the elevator and going down to the Control Room. What he saw was a sight he wished he didn't ever have to see again. The Control Room was bustling with activity. An ensign brought him a cup of hot coffee without his asking for it, apparently having been informed of Al's preferences from the 'good old days' of Quantum Leap. Al tasted the coffee and grimaced slightly. No one could make a decent cup of coffee in this complex, it seemed to him.

"Gooshie," Al called out. "Talk to me."

The control room had been given an enormous face lift after the explosion. Everything was more in a chromatic tone rather than juju bee rainbows. Subtle and smoother, sleeker. Ziggy's control panel was even designed to be lower - just for the Admiral. Gooshie was working frantically over the console when Al came in and demanded an explanation.

Gooshie swallowed. "Admiral. Dr. Beckett leaped." It was quite possibly the dumbest thing he could have said, but his panic of the situation didn't help him to be very articulate.

"No shinola! Who else would be stupid enough to use that damned thing without a test run?" Al commented, drinking the coffee again before deciding that maybe coffee wasn't the best idea at the moment. Gesturing the ensign who gave it to him over, he handed it back, indicating that he should take it away. "Got anything that I don't already know?" he asked as he returned his attention to the nervous programmer.

Taking another breath, Gooshie pressed several buttons on the multitouch screen console. There was an image coming in of where Sam landed, with a scrolling list of information on the side of the screen. "He's landed. 1984. A man named David Sheldon and - oh, dear..."

"Oh, dear, what?" Al demanded. It IS 8 years ago again. Terrific.

Gooshie looked up from the screen to the Admiral. "It should be right up your alley, sir. The man he leaped into is a paraplegic."

"Well, at least I won't have to look up to look into Sam's eyes," Al teased, trying to find a silver lining in the situation. "Handlink?" Receiving the small device from Gooshie, Al looked at it for a long moment, deja vu coming over him. Tucking the handlink under his leg, he pushed himself towards the Imaging Chamber door. "Okay. Start her up."

When Sam leaped into his new host, he was in an awkward position. Well, maybe not awkward rather than really uncomfortable. A woman was watching him intently, leaning on the wall of what seemed like a stripped examination room. The wheelchair Sam was in didn't make him feel better. It was no hospital issued scrap metal - it was a sleek, aerodynamic tool. With suspension. It was permanent.

"Well?" asked the woman, "Does it feel alright to you?"

Sam panicked for a moment before nodding, "Y-Yeah. Fine." At that moment, the imaging chamber door opened.

Sam had a million questions for the observer, a lot of which revolved around why he, too, was in a wheelchair. Nervously, he looked to the woman and asked, "Could I be alone for a minute? I want - to - you know, test it out."

The woman smiled. "Sure. I'll be outside." Once she was gone, Sam stood up quickly from the chair.

"Al! What the hell is going on? What . . . what . . ." he couldn't seem to find the word, but kept indicating the chair the admiral was sitting in.

Al raised his eyebrow at Sam's demand, seeing the confused look on his face. "It's a wheelchair, Sam. For people like me and David, it's a means of transportation from one end of the room to the other."

"People like . . . Al, what the hell happened to you?" There was a strain in Sam's voice that the doctor didn't expect. The question itself was incredulous and so full of confusion and concern.

Al frowned at Sam's words, thinking on them before he exhaled slowly. "You mean you don't remember," he stated more than asked. "Sam... what's the last thing you DO remember?"

Sam paced a bit, thinking really hard. He scratched at his head, looking down at the floor. "I don't know. I can't even remember my last leap. . . Wait. You were shot."

"Your last leap..." Al murmured under his breath to Sam's words. He took a breath and exhaled loudly. "Do you remember... coming home?"

"Home? No," Sam nearly cried, "I came home? And I can't remember. I remember you were shot . . . by Leon Stiles. But I thought you were okay..."

Al's eyes widened. "Stiles! Aww, shit!" He ran his hand over his face. "This isn't happening. It isn't."

"Al, please," Sam pleaded desperately, kneeling before his holographic friend, "Tell me what's going on?"

Al opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again and looked away. How could he tell his best friend that he'd just lost three years of memories? That he'd come home and had only now gone into the Accelerator again on some damned fool mission? The only thing he could do was tell a truth. "Stiles didn't do this to me, Sam. Someone else did."

Despite the change in offender, it still tore at Sam's heart. There were tears in his eyes, and frustration clenched his jaw, "Who? God, it doesn't matter, does it?" He moved away from the Admiral, turned away from him and facing the wall. "I help so many people, and I can't help my best friend. It's so unfair."

Al watched his friend move away, listened to his words. Why can't Sam just accept things as they are? Why did he had to be a perpetual Boy Scout? "I don't think it's unfair, Sam. I deliberately took a bullet to save a good man. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I wish you stop beating yourself up over it."

There was a knock at the door, and the woman on the other side said, "Is everything alright in there?" Again, Sam had the feeling of alarm creep into his brain. He looked at Al, and panicked.

"Sit in the chair and tell her everything's fine," Al instructed. When Sam didn't move right away, Al pressed the point harder. "David Sheldon is a paraplegic, Sam. If the therapist sees you walking around on thin air, she's going to freak. Now, just go along and follow my lead until we can get somewhere more private."

Reluctantly, Sam did as he was told, just in time. The woman came in the moment his rear was in the seat. She smiled. "Alright, David, I guess all the adjustments are made. You can take it home today. We'll recycle your old chair."

"O-Okay," stammered Sam, again feeling very uncomfortable with the chair he was using.

"I'll call you later this week to see how things are with it. And don't be afraid to call me if you have any problems alright?" She led him out the door, letting Sam push himself through the lobby of the clinic and out the automatic doors. "See you soon!"

Outside, Sam was totally lost. Did he drive? Did he take other transportation, or did he just - wheel - everywhere. The clinic was in an outdoor strip mall, so anywhere besides right in front of it was good enough for now. He rolled down the sidewalk and stopped.

"I don't feel right about this," he said.

Al followed him down the sidewalk, stopping when he did. "About what, Sam? About using a wheelchair? This isn't the first time you've leaped into a paraplegic, you know."

"I remember," Sam snapped. He stopped, brows furrowed, "I think. Al, I don't know. I just don't know. Ten minutes, and I already don't like this leap."

Al's frustration that had started literally the moment he woke up came to a head at Sam's comment. "Well, then you shouldn't have gotten into the damned Accelerator in the first place!" he told him harshly.

At first, Sam didn't understand. The harshness of Al's words stunned him into silence. He was hurt, probably far deeper than he understood. "I'm - sorry. I didn't want us to get shut down. You know that, Al. Right?"

Al exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remember that, to Sam, he'd never stopped leaping. He'd never come home. "I know," he whispered, not looking at the physicist. "I know that, Sam. I'm sorry. It's just..." He laughed sickly. "It's been a hell of a day."

"Why am I here, Al?" Sam finally asked, "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

Al nodded slightly at his questions. "Right," he murmured. Raising the handlink, he hit a couple of buttons and frowned. The frown turned into a growl and he hit the side of it with frustration. "Three years and you couldn't make this thing work properly?" he complained without realizing his words.

A sinking feeling intruded Sam's insides. He felt himself grow stiff and cold as a painful realization finally dawned on him. "Three years," he whispered, "What do you mean - three years? I was . . . I was home. For three years?"

"Umm..." Al started, choosing to focus on the handlink. "Your car is a blue Chevy Malibu convertible, converted so that David can drive it. It's..."

Distracted for the moment, Sam nodded. Then he inwardly groaned. "Oh, boy - Al. Converted meaning hand controls to drive it?"

"Yeah. So?" Al questioned with a raised eyebrow. "I'll show you how to drive it."

Sam looked at Al suspiciously. "How long have you been - like that?"

"Umm... a while."

Taking a breath, Sam looked for the vehicle in question. Getting into was a whole different story, which Al had to walk him through. Driving it took getting used to, but once they arrived at Sheldon's apartment, Sam let out a huge sigh of relief.

He tossed the keys onto a small table near the door. The moment the door closed, Sam leapt up and stretched. "That is the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat in..."

"Really," Al said with a frown. "Well, at least you can feel it under your legs."

Sam turned. "You can't feel?"

"Sure I can. From the base of my spine up," Al told him, looking around the apartment. "Nice place. Roomy. Hasn't been converted yet, though. Wonder if he's going to or if he's just planning on moving elsewhere."

Getting back to the leap at hand, Sam looked around too. "How long have I - has Sheldon - been paralyzed?"

Al raised the handlink and pushed a few buttons. "About six months. Must have been the easiest patient in the world for his therapists to get his own chair so soon. I was a pain in the butt."

Trying to ignore Al was like trying to ignore a Mack Truck headon collision. "Al, this is too weird. I leap into this guy, and then I see you in that thing. It doesn't make sense. It's too coincidental. I mean, what could I possibly be here for? I can't help Sheldon get over this disability if I AM him. Only he can do that..." Then a thought occurred to him. He looked at Al, "You can."

Al leaned back in his chair. "And what makes you think that you're here to help David 'get over' his disability? You talk about it as if it were a plague or something, not an adjustment to a different way of life."

Sam's face twisted in confusion. He went over to the couch and fell into it.

Sam's face twisted in confusion. He went over to the couch and fell into it. "Why can't I remember?" He said, mostly to himself, "If it's not for him to get over his disability, then what? Have you asked Ziggy yet?"

Al exhaled slowly, raising the handlink again. "She says that you're here..." His eyebrow went up at what he was reading. "You're here to get your head on straight?" To Sam's startled expression, Al shrugged. "Her choice of words, Sam, not mine."

"What the heck does that mean?" The confused Beckett was just turning question marks over in his head by the dozens, "Get my head on straight? As in me? Sam?"

"As in you, Sam Beckett, quantum physicist and terminally gorgeous Boy Scout." Getting another look from Sam, Al lowered his eyelids. "Hey, I'm not the one who programmed her."

"This is great. Just great," Sam was about to get up to pace again, but something stopped him. No emotional inference, just something physical. He let out a breath of frustration. "I don't get it. If I'm not here to help David Sheldon then . . . " He tried to get up again, but didn't budge, "What the hell...?"

"What's the matter?" Al asked, looking at him with concern.

"I'm stuck." Sam said, absolutely confused beyond comprehension. He looked at Al, hoping that his friend would have an answer for him.

Al raised his eyebrows and looked at the handlink, trying to find out what exactly was going on. What he got, however, sent a chill down his spine. "Uh... Sam? Try moving your legs," he suggested. When nothing happened and he saw the growing panic in Sam's eyes, he sighed. "That's what I thought."

"Oh, my god. Don't tell me that I'm . . ." Sam was through being in control, cordial and polite. "Are you telling me that I'm . . . What the hell? What's He thinking! GodFateTime . . . This is one huge, cruel, sick joke!"

"A cruel sick joke?" Al questioned, his eyes growing dark from Sam's words. "Is that what you think about my condition?" He was quiet for a moment. "You know what? I think that He's teaching you a lesson, Sam."

"A lesson?" Sam asked, hurt. He shook his head. "For what? I know about paraplegia. I'm a medical doctor. What kind of lesson?" He looked at Al this time, really looked at him and asked quietly, again, "What kind of lesson?"

Al hesitated only a moment to think of the right words to use. "A lesson in respect." Getting a confused look from Sam, Al continued. "That bullet that I took? I took it to save your life, Sam. And ever since I became paralyzed, you've belittled my sacrifice every time we've been even near each other. You haven't been treating me fairly, Sam. Not for a very long time." Seeing the hurt in his friend's eyes, it hurt more to continue but he knew he had to. "In your eyes I either didn't exist or I was incapable of helping myself. You avoided being near me as if paralysis was a deadly contagious disease." He exhaled. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"No. No, I refuse to believe that," Sam pleaded, "I would never do that to you. I couldn't. How could I? You're - you're my best friend, Al. My god, how . . ." He swallowed, still having to face his predicament from getting off the couch. "If I'm merging with Sheldon . . . then I have to figure out how to get off this couch first."

"Well, in this case, you fall off the couch, Sam," Al told him plainly, getting a shocked look from him. "You left the wheelchair by the front door. You're going to have to crawl over to it to get into it."

Sam's jaw hit the floor. "Al. I'm not sure about this. Are you comfortable with it? I can't even begin to imagine how you feel."

"What I feel... is sorry for you, Sam," he told his friend gently. "This isn't going to be easy for you and that's what hurts me."

Moving as best as he could, which wasn't all to much, Sam managed to pull himself to the edge of the couch and fall to the floor. More like crumple to the floor. His legs, which he couldn't feel at that moment, twisted underneath him. He saw Al watching him, and knife pierced his heart for reasons he couldn't explain. He was breathing heavily.

"What now?" He panted.

"You need to straighten your legs behind you and then use your arms to crawl over to the chair," Al told him softly before he closed his eyes. He couldn't watch his friend struggle like that. Al was used to having to do whatever it took to get something done, even if it meant a little bit of humiliation. Sam wasn't.

It was hard. For both of them. Sam did as he was instructed, taking his time to get across the floor to the chair he had so quickly vacated. From his position, it suddenly looked huge and ominous. Again, under the guidance of his friend, Sam managed - after several tries - to get into the wheelchair. Once he was in, he straightened himself out and leaned over his knees.

"My god, I never knew - it was so hard." Sam panted. It felt like the most rigorous exercise he'd ever undertaken in his life, and all he did was crawl across the floor to sit in a chair.

"Builds a strong upper body," Al told him with a hint of a smile. "It gets easier over time."

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow, rubbing his temples. It was so frustrating just to be there. He couldn't move without the chair now. Then a thought occurred to him. "Oh, my god," Sam said, horrified.

"What is it, Sam?" Al asked gently.

Sam gave Al a look of absolute terror. "I think . . . I have to go to the bathroom."

Al couldn't help it. He started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, panicked.

"You crawl across the floor, fight to get into a wheelchair... and you're worried about going to the bathroom?"

Sam let out a heavy breath, looking at Al seriously. "Okay. I get it. I know how it works. You can come back when I'm done, alright?"

Seeing the offended look on Sam's face, Al raised his hand in truce. "I'm sorry. You're right. This is a really serious issue." He forced himself not to laugh at the look on Sam's face. "There are two options. You can either slide your trousers off and transfer onto a toilet or you can use a..."

Again, Sam gave Al a hard look. "I got it. Maybe you should take this time to go check on Carlie." Sam straightened, confused. "Who's Carlie?"

Al looked at Sam with a smile. "She's my niece. And you're right. I should check on her. But I just want to make sure that you can handle yourself alone for a little while." Getting a glare from Sam, Al raised a hand. "Hey, this is your first time, Sam. Even I needed help my first time... you know..."

"I think I can handle it. Or at the very least, figure it out. I'll be careful. Really." Sam nodded. "Go on. I won't be going very far for a while."

Al gave him a little nod. "Okay." He raised the handlink and inputted the exit sequence. Dropping the handlink in his lap, he gave Sam a little smile. "I'll be back in ten minutes to see how you handled it."

"Great." Sam said without enthusiasm, and watched the observer leave through the bright imaging chamber door.

------------------------


	11. Last Chance

Chapter Eleven by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Gooshie watched the admiral exit the chamber. Before he could zoom out of the other side of the room, he said, "There seems to be a problem in the waiting room, Admiral."

"And that would be?" Al asked, stopping to look up into Gooshie's nervous face.

"David Sheldon. He's walking around. Dr. Beeks has been trying to talk to him. I think she needs you in there, sir." replied Gooshie.

Al exhaled. "Yep, definitely eight years ago," he muttered, turning to wheel up the ramp that led to the Imaging Chamber. Fortunately for him, the door opened automatically and he entered without even having to stop.

"I knew it was a matter of time," came Sam's voice from the other side of the door. The man who looked like Sam, dressed in a fermi suit, was taking circles around the dias in the middle of the room. Verbena Beeks had given up the fight and only observed. "I told those docs I'd be walking again. Boy, this is great"

He turned to see Al roll in, in a wheelchair that looked very similar to the one he had left behind. The man's face fell into a frown. "What the hell is this? I don't need a councelor anymore. Look, see?" He jumped up and down, lifting his legs in turn.

"Oh, boy," Al murmured, lowering his head before he exhaled loudly. He rubbed his face for a moment, trying to decide how to handle the situation. When he came up with absolutely nothing, he looked at Verbina, getting a shrug in response. "Uh... David," he started. Gaining the man's attention, he took a breath. "This... You're not cured, David. This is... a dream." Getting an incredulous look from Verbina, he gestured her to leave.

Dr. Beeks, though she was reluctant, nodded and left the room. She touched the Admiral's shoulder on the way out. Once the door was closed behind her, David felt it safe to talk again. "Who are you?" he asked, "How can this be a dream? It's so real. I'm walking, don't you see? The accident never happened. Right?"

"The accident happened, David. You were paralyzed," Al told him plainly. "But I'm walking!" "Are you sure? Or are you dreaming that you're walking because you want to so badly?"

David narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the older man. Quietly he said, "What about you? Don't give me that 'adjusted' crap! You want to walk just as much as me, or any body with their ass stuck in a chair."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to spend my life wishing for something that isn't going to happen," Al told him bluntly. "When you... wake up... you're going to be back to being paralyzed and you're going to have to get used to living your life rather than wasting it on a useless dream."

David said nothing for a moment, hanging his head and thinking very hard about the circumstances. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe it is just a dream. He was told he would dream about walking for a long time.

He sat down on the floor, folding his hands in front of him. "So - I guess I should just enjoy this dream?"

Al lowered his head, wishing that he hadn't needed to lie to David. But he knew it was for his own good. And in a way, it was a truth. Al himself still had dreams every once in a while where he'd be walking around. In one, he had actually danced with Carlie. That was a nice dream. "Yeah, enjoy every single one of them. Sometimes what ifs... can lift your spirits."

David swallowed, his face solemn. He stood up again, stretching legs he won't feel again after the dream was over. "Okay. I guess - if that's the only choice, I won't waste it." He stopped, thinking for a moment before looking at his older companion. "Do you ever wish you could dance again?"

Al tensed at David's question. Was he reading his thoughts? Probably not. But the coincidence was unnerving. "All the time," Al admitted. "I used to love to dance."

David smiled sadly. "Yeah. It was great, wasn't it? Dancing..." Then he started a slow waltz, dancing with the air. "There was a beautiful girl once, when I was in College. I almost asked her to marry me. I danced with her all night." He stopped, "Then I made love with her. That was a great night."

Al smiled gently. "With the right woman, a dance is everything in the world."

"Yeah. I'd been meaning to call her too," David said, sitting on the dais, "Her name is Bethany. She had the most beautiful blue eyes and the softest hair. But if I called her now . . .," he sighed, looking down at his feet, "I don't know what she'd think."

"If she's in love with you as much as you are obviously in love with her, she'll understand," Al assured him.

"You think so?" David asked, unsure, "I just don't see how - a woman could love a man who isn't the same anymore."

"Has your personality changed any? What about your beliefs? Your morals?" Getting a questioning look from him, Al leaned forward. "Your body doesn't make you who you are, David. It's what's up here..." He touched his temple. "... and what's in here..." He pointed to his heart. "... that makes you who you are. Nothing else."

After a while, David nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so, huh? So - So I should call her?"

"I would," Al said with a smile. He gave a little laugh. "The worst she could say is no. And you've already been through worse than that, right?"

"You bet," David said pointedly, "I hated that stryker frame. Felt like I was gonna pass out every time they moved me."

"Tell me about it! And I thought astronaut training was bad!"

David laughed, nodding again. "Yeah." He stood up again, walking around the dais once more before approaching Al. He stuck out his hand, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. . . ?"

"Call me Al." He accepted his hand and shook it.

"Al." He confirmed, gripping the man's hand. "You got a girl, Al?"

Al laughed. "In a manner of speaking." Again, the confused look came across David's face. "I have a niece whom I'm raising."

"Well, if she's anything like you, I think she'll turn out pretty good," David confided, "Thanks for talking to me."

"Hey, it's the least I can do." Al told him with a smile. "I'll see if we can scrounge you up something to eat." He turned to leave.

Verbena was waiting outside the waiting room door when Al rolled out. Once the door was safely closed again, she spoke, "How is he doing?"

"He's doing okay," he confided. "I've convinced him that it's all a dream."

"Good," Dr. Beeks let out a breath of relief, "The last thing he needed was false hope. I'm glad you were able to talk to him." She smiled at the Admiral, "And I should apologize."

"Apologize?" Al asked. "For what?"

Verbena lay a gentle hand on Al's shoulder. "I haven't been treating you like a friend for a while either," she said, "Like Sam, I had been too afraid to treat you the same as I always have. And I couldn't have been more wrong. I'm sorry."

Al took her hand off her shoulder and held it. "Hey, now. Stop that. I don't want to hear anymore moping or self-pity. Okay?"

Verbena's smile widened, and she squeezed the Admiral's hand. "Okay," she said firmly, "I promise. No more moping. But I have to ask something. How are you dealing with this? With Sam?"

"What do you mean, how am I dealing with this? I'm dealing with this as if it were another leap. Another damned leap after three years of having him home."

"Exactly," she said, "Which is why I ask. The reason why he did it was different from the first time. He can't accept the guilt he's dealing with, so he thought going back in time to help you was the best way. I know that's not an easy thing to live with, Al."

He sighed at her words, leaning back in his chair. "I keep telling him over and over and over but he just won't listen. I don't want him to have to learn this way but... maybe some time in my shoes will make him understand."

"Not a bad way to learn," She said, patting his shoulder, "Even it is hard. Now, I've got some things to do in there," she indicated the waiting room, "You go on. Sam probably still needs your help."

"Probably," he agreed. He rubbed his face. "I've got to check on Carlie..." he started but, when Verbina assured him that she'd take care of it, he nodded. "Okay. In I go, then." Rolling into the Imaging Chamber, he centered himself on Sam.

When Al found him, Sam was on the floor again. This time, in the bedroom. From the looks of it, the scientist tried to transfer into bed - without much sucess. He was wincing slightly and rubbing his back, awkwardly propping himself up on one hand.

"I thought you said you'd be back in ten minutes!" Sam scolded.

"Hey, if I spent a little more time than I promised, I'm sorry," Al retaliated. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I fell," Sam practically pouted, his ego horribly bruised - probably more than his rear, "And my back is killing me."

"Sorry to hear that. Try feeling shooting pain from the middle of your back all the way up to your neck. A little back ache is nothing." Getting a glare from Sam, Al put his hands in his lap. "Are you going to get in the bed or not?"

"I'm getting to it!" Sam protested, "Has Ziggy said anything else about why I'm here? I still don't believe that dealing with paralysis is the only reason. There's gotta be something else more significant."

"Well it is the only reason you're here, Sam. Get over it."

Sam shook his head, still not convinced. Again, with how Al instructed him previously, he lifted himself up into the chair. It took nearly all the strength he had left, as he was still wiped out from the first time. His rear barely made it into the seat.

"I've been thinking, Al," Sam confided quietly, "Trying to remember things. And why I'm here. I wish - I wish I could remember what happened to you."

"I was shot," Al told him as if it were a common occurrence. "Someone tried to kill you. I pushed you out of the way and took the bullet instead. Simple as that."

"But who?" Sam asked, "Who would try to kill me? Why? Why would . . ." And then an expression cross his features, of deep and hurtful realization. "We were angry," he said quietly, not noticing the look of worry the was slowly crossing Al's features, "I was angry at you. For something so stupid . . . the elevator doors opened. An MP had a gun."

"MP's carry guns all the time, Sam," Al excused, concerned about the look on Sam's face. When the tears started to roll down his cheeks, Al shook his head adamantly. "It wasn't your fault, Sam. It wasn't. Don't start blaming yourself again over something you had no control over."

"No," he said finally, his voice trembling, "It wasn't my fault that you were shot. What was my fault - was that I wasn't there. For you. For three years, I didn't stand by you and help you. I wasn't your friend, like I should have been. Fixing you isn't the answer. I just . . . I should have been there."

"Aww, Sam..." Al started, exhaling softly. "I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago..."

"I'll make it up to you, Al," Sam finally said. He wiped away his tears, reaching for his friend's hand. But it passed through the holographic image. Sam swallowed, nodding. "I swear to God, I'll make it up to you."

Those were his last words before the familiar electricity filled his being - and he disappeared. The imaging chamber was blanked, showing nothing but solid blue walls.

-------------------------


	12. Catching Up

Chapter 12 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Despite what Sam had intended, he did not return home after the leap out of David Sheldon. Once he leaped out, much to the dismay of the project, he didn't leap back in to anywhere anytime soon. Without any knowledge of the whereabouts of Dr. Beckett in the space time continuum, everyone was left to wait.

Carlie and Al celebrated their birthdays together, his nieces' birthday being five days earlier than the admiral's. The cast came off the teen's leg, and she rejoiced even though her step was hindered by a constant tenderness in the muscle. Life went on.

Late in June, the day was very hot. All the windows were thrown open in the Calavicci home. Al was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt with a hand fan in his lap at all times. Carlie was sprawled out on the couch, dressed as scantily as decency would allow.

The phone rang.

Al sighed at the sound of the phone ringing. It was just too darned hot to have to deal with the complex, in his opinion. Still, with Sam somewhere out there, he couldn't just ignore the phone either. Looking over at Carlie, he sighed.

"You're no help," he groused, only to get a flick of water on him for his teasing. He smiled as made his way to the phone and lifted the receiver.' "Calavicci," he answered.

At first, there was no answer on the other end. But then, a timid voice spoke up, clearing their throat. It was a woman's voice, and she said quietly, "Al?"

Al nearly dropped the phone at the sound of the woman's voice. This was some kind of a sick prank. Had to be. "Who is this?" he demanded, gaining Carlie's attention by the tone of his voice.

Carlie turned on her stomach to look over at her uncle. She'd never seen him so spooked before, except of course when he and Sam found her in the ravine. She shrugged her shoulders and mouthed a question, but gained no reaction from Al.

The woman on the phone sounded distraught when she was asked who she was, and there was a sound of choked sobbing on the other end for a moment. She took a breath and stated as steadily as she could, "It's Beth."

That did cause him to drop the receiver, his face going white. He swallowed for a moment and looked in his lap to see that the receiver hadn't fallen too far. Carefully, he picked it up again and put it to his ear. "I..." he started and then swallowed. What did you say to the woman who ripped out your heart and remarried because she thought you were dead? He cleared his throat.

"I thought it was you," he murmured, knowing what he was saying didn't exactly sound quite right. "How... how did you get my number?" And why are you calling me thirty years after you left me for dead?

Time changes people. Beth was once a confident nurse with a quirkiness about her that rubbed off from Al. But thirty years is a lifetime to some, and too much can happen within that time. She struggled for words, her breathing growing erratic every second.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "If this was a mistake, tell me now. This was - impulsive of me, and I'm not sure what to say. I don't mean to make you feel awkward. What am I saying? I don't know what I'm saying. Just . . . Al, I'm sorry if I've interrupted anything. I didn't mean . . . "

"Beth..." Al interrupted, hearing the tone in her voice. He didn't like that tone. It sounded frightened to him. "Beth, calm down. It's okay," he told her. Like hell it is! his mind yelled. He ignored it. "Tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong?" she asked, as if the question was incredulous to begin with, "It's been too long, that's what's wrong. Please, I - can't talk about it on the phone. I called to tell you that . . . I'm in New Mexico."

"Are you in trouble?" he asked, fear seeping into him. "Honey, if you're in trouble, tell me and I'll be there..."

"No, I'm not in trouble," she reassured him, "It's nothing like that. It's - my . . . Dirk. He's dead."

Al didn't say anything at her words. He didn't know what to say. If it weren't for Project Quantum Leap, he never would have learned the name of the man his first wife had married after declaring him dead. And now, Beth calls to tell him the man who stole his wife from him is dead? How he supposed to feel? Upset? "I see," was the only thing that came from his lips.

The words felt like a cold sting, but she knew they were coming, no matter how he might have phrased it. There was no excuse left. It was either in or out now, and she had to take one or the other eventually. "I'd to see you," she said finally, "But if you don't want to see me, I'll understand."

More than anything, I want to see you. But I want to see my wife, not a woman who abandoned me and married some shyster lawyer, he thought, with a swallow. He took a deep breath through his nose and looked at Carlie, who had a hard frown on her face. "I don't..." he started and then exhaled. "Okay," he finally said, deciding to take a step. Hell, if it turned out bad, he still had someone to care for to get over the hurt. "Where and when?"

An arrangement was made to meet in a public place in Alamogordo. The beginning of summer meant that plenty of activity would be in the Main Street Plaza with lots of outdoor dining and shopping. Plenty of people. Carlie was still staring at her uncle, probably more spooked than he himself was. She didn't like the look on his face.

"Well," she demanded, "Who the hell was it? You're starting to give me the creeps."

He didn't answer right away, licking his lips slightly. "A ghost of my past," he answered.

"I could have told you that," she rolled her eyes, standing and approaching him, "Are you okay? You really look like you're about to puke or something."

"No, I'm not okay," Al told her bluntly, still not moving from his spot. "A woman I married thirty years ago calls me up, tells me her husband is dead and that she wants to see me and you're asking me if I'm okay?" he asked sarcastically. Seeing the hurt look on Carlie's face, his eyes softened immediately. "I'm sorry, Carlie. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know?" Carlie retaliated, not listening to the apology. She put distance between them, her body rigid, "There's a lot that I still don't know about you, you know? But from what I do know of you, it doesn't surprise me that you agreed to meet her. I know how you've been through more women than a pimp in Brooklyn. So what, do I get dumped next for this skirt? You seem to have a problem with commitment. Even platonic ones."

"Hey!" Al exclaimed in shock of her words. "Now that isn't fair, Carlie. You're my niece, not some skirt. And if you think I'm going to dump you for any reason whatsoever then you don't know me at all, even after all we've been through. If you don't want me to see her, fine. I'll call her now and break it off." He turned and rolled towards the hallway, his heart aching.

"What is she to you, anyway?" She asked with his back turned, "If she left you, what do you care about her?"

He stopped and turned around, looking into Carlie's eyes. "She's my first wife. And I still love her." He took a breath and laughed slightly. "And I probably don't even know her anymore with how much time has passed between us."

Carlie's expression still showed hurt and anger, now with a mask of sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow at Al, in a very familiar Calavicci way, "And she probably doesn't know you either. Do you think she knows that you can't walk?"

He shook his head slowly. "No," he whispered. "I doubt it." He took a deep breath. "You're right. It was a stupid thing to do but... Beth... Beth kept me alive through Vietnam. The thought of coming home to her..." He closed his eyes to hide the tears that were building in them.

"Kept you alive?" Carlie asked, confused, "What do you mean she kept you alive? She went to war too? I thought women weren't allowed in combat back then."

Al swallowed, shaking his head. "I was MIA. The memory of her... the idea that she was waiting for me at home... Well, it was the only thing that kept me from letting those bastards kill me."

Despite not knowing what 'MIA' stood for, there was a deeper meaning that Carlie was starting to understand. She wouldn't say it, but she suddenly remembered seeing scars on her uncle's back. Very ugly scars that she never had the courage to ask about, and seeing him in a state of near tears in front her didn't make her want to ask at all. But she began to understand.

"Then you should go see her," she said quietly.

Al gave her a little smile of thanks and nodded slightly. "Come with me," he requested, getting a look of surprise from her. "If Beth wants to see me then I want her to see me. And you're a part of me."

She relaxed with his words, letting a grin creep over her lips. Sauntering to him, she groaned playfully, "You're doing the mushy thing again."

"It happens when you get to be an old man like me," he told her with a smile before pulling her into his lap, getting a startled scream from her.

It didn't take much convincing to get Carlie to join him at the Main Street Plaza. The sun was torturing the massive crowd of people with its heat. Carlie kept taking ice from her half-melted ice water and putting the cubes on her head while they waited for Beth to show up.

"This is cruel and unusual punishment," confided Carlie to her uncle, who was seated next to her at the table, "Making us wait in 110 degree heat. Five more minutes and I say we get food."

Al smiled at her widely. "You know, I'm almost with you on that," he told her. The moment he spoke those words, he froze, his eyes focused on the woman who had just walked into the portico of the cafe. Her hair was longer and had highlights of gray but... he'd recognize her anywhere. He swallowed, his heart pounding as his hands moved to his wheels as if he were about to bolt out of the plaza to safety.

Carlie touched Al's arm, seeing the look of alarm that entered his face. "What's wrong?" Then it dawned on her. "You saw her, didn't you?"

Al barely nodded as the hostess brought Beth to his table. He found it hard to say anything as he just stared up at her. God, she's still so beautiful! Finally, her words filtered through to his brain. "Hello... Beth," he said softly, still staring at her.

Beth stared back, the feeling of such deep emotion about ready to explode from her chest. Her hands shook, and she gripped them to control the trembling. There were tears welling in her eyes that threatened to spill with a single movement of her head. Her jaw was set to keep her teeth from chattering. She was nervous. She was scared.

She was still so in love with him.

"Al," she finally said, ignoring Carlie and walking around the table to grasp the man in a hug. Impulsiveness, of course, drove the woman. She didn't notice the chair he was in at first, and just clutched him tightly.

The ice that Al had kept around his heart to protect him melted at the feel of Beth's tight hug. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel her for a long moment. It was almost as if the last thirty years hadn't happened. But Al wasn't a fool. He knew things were different. He just wondered if what was different would get in the way.

"Beth," he murmured, gently pushing her away. "Beth, this is my niece Carlie," he introduced the teenage girl with a proud smile.

Carlie offered a small wave to the black haired woman, along with a trademark Calavicci grin. Beth nodded to her, "Hi, Carlie." She looked at Al, wiping away the tear trails from her cheeks, "You have a niece? And . . . oh, my god." She saw the chair then, looking back and forth from it to his face. She gripped his hand. "Oh, Al, honey - what happened?"

"Long story," he told her gently. "Please, sit down. We have a lot to talk about." Isn't that the truth!

Beth tugged a chair close to her ex-husband, still gripping his hand. Carlie leaned into him and whispered, "You still want me here?"

"What do you think?" Al whispered back with a hint of a frown. "This isn't a date or anything." Turning his attention to Beth, he gave her a hint of a smile. "So," he said.

Carlie made a face and let the adults have their conversation. Beth was too focused on Al to notice the girl's behavior. She scooted as close to Al as she could, given their limitations. She couldn't stop looking him up and down, the white pants that covered his legs and the Hawaiian shirt that went so well with his bright personality. . . and the wheelchair.

"Honey, tell me what happened? Was it 'Nam?" Beth asked.

Al hesitated for a moment, a little uncomfortable with the situation. "No, it wasn't 'Nam," he told her before turning his head towards Carlie and seeing the bored look on her face. "You know what? Let's order lunch and we can talk afterwards. I'm sure Carlie's starving. She's been threatening to eat the table."

Carlie was a hard teenager to deal with sometimes, but other times it made her a more considerate person. She knew these two people needed to talk, being just as intuitive as her uncle, though she might not have known it quite yet. She stood quickly and stuck out her hand to him, "Gimme money and I will produce food."

Al laughed slightly at her choice of words. Reaching into his wallet, he pulled out two twenty dollar bills and handed them to her. "And two beers," he told her, getting a wide-eyed look from her. "Hey, if Carlos gives you any problems, you point me out and he'll deliver it in person to keep you out of trouble with the law." Once Carlie was away from the table, Al leaned back with a wide smile. "She's a good kid."

Beth blinked back tears, "She's just like you." Pulling herself a little closer, sitting on the edge of her seat to do it, Beth touched the Admiral's face. She swallowed a lump in her throat and tried desperately to keep her emotions in check. "I've missed you - so much."

"Then why did you leave me?" Al asked and then immediately wished he hadn't. "God, that was wrong for me to ask. I'm sorry, Beth. I'm sorry."

The question was inevitable, and it broke the camel's back. The floodgate of tears finally opened and Beth sobbed. She leaned in close to Al and pressed her face into his chest. "Don't be sorry," she cried, "I should be sorry. I still loved you. I thought you died. I thought no one could survive that long, so you had to have been dead. Dirk never replaced you, he couldn't. I married him and I divorced him."

Slowly, Al brought his hand over her head and gently brushed her hair, leaning his head down to kiss the top of her head. "I should have never gone on that second tour," he murmured to her. "We both made mistakes, baby. Please... don't cry." He never could stand seeing her cry.

A moment passed and the heaving sobs dissipated enough to where Beth could sit up straight again. In vain, she wiped away tears that still flowed. "I should have never married him. Al. I divorced him when I found out you got repatriated. But - I didn't have the courage to face you after what I'd done. The Beth you knew as strong and confident was crumbled into an idealistic waste basket. I was a coward."

"You weren't the only one," he assured her. "I should have gone after you. Instead... well, let's just say that I tried too hard to replace you and found it couldn't be done." He laughed sickly. "So, here we are, two cowards sitting in 110 degree weather, waiting for cold beers and quesadillas."

Beth tried to give him a smile, but there was still another issue that needed to be brought out into the open. She licked her lips and gazed deeply into eyes. "Al, honey. Why are you in a wheelchair?"

Al took a deep breath and exhaled. It seemed to him that that had become the question of the year from everyone. "Almost four years ago, I was shot by a disgruntled government employee. The bullet severed my spinal cord," he repeated the well-rehearsed official answer to the question. He couldn't rightly tell her that the government employee in question was actually an evil time-traveler bent on killing Dr. Sam Beckett of Nobel Prize fame.

Beth nodded, understanding that the simplest explanation is probably the best. She took a breath, "You look good, honey." She tried to smile, her eyes sad and her heart breaking.

Al gave her a smile, trying to lighten the burden he saw in her eyes. ""Yeah, well, it's the best part about being Italian."

She smiled, nodding absently again, trying to keep the questions as light as she could despite their content. "And the sever - is it complete? No . . . no chance for . . ." She took a breath but couldn't finish.

Al shook his head, hating the pity that was starting to show in her eyes. "No. No chance I'll walk again. I'm paralyzed from the lower part of my back down." He exhaled loudly, seeing Beth lower her head. "No pity, Beth. You know I can't stand it."

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, "I don't mean to . . . I'm just - it's hard to see you like this after so long. Thirty years . . . and paralyzed. It's certainly not easy. Just give me a little bit of time to adjust to it. You were always so full of spirit and I have to realize and understand that this chair doesn't stop it."

Al smiled widely at her, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. "I love you." He hadn't even realized he'd said the words.

She leaned into his hand. "I love you too, Al."

Suddenly, a plate of quesadillas landed on the table like a stray flying saucer, along with two bottles of beer. "You two having a nice chat," quipped the teenager rudely.

Both Al and Beth jumped at the sound of Corningware hitting glass and the sound of Carlie's almost teasing voice. "Yes... thank you, Carlie," Al replied to the quip, ignoring the tone. He held out his hand expectantly, gaining a questioning look from Carlie. "Change?"

"Here," she handed him 15 dollars, "I get to keep five for the arcade though, right?" She grinned at Al winningly.

Al rolled his eyes. "You're incorrigible!" he told her teasingly. He began to hand her the five dollars but pulled it away. "You're going to stay in the arcade?" Getting an exasperated "yes", he continued. "You're going to leave your cell on?" Another "yes". "And you're going to return when I call you?" A third "yes", this one with a glare. He smiled and handed her the money.

Carlie snatched the bill from his hand, grabbed a quesadilla and ran off across the Plaza to the arcade. Beth smiled after her before turning the smile to Al. Her eyes were sad. "You always were so good with kids," she said.

"Are you kidding? She's a handful," Al replied with a shake of his head. "I'm surprised I have any hair left." Reaching over, he grabbed the beers and opened each with the bottle opener on the table. Handing her one, he gently clinked them together.

"Cheers," she said, grinning and taking a sip. She thought for a moment, looking at her hands. "I can't believe I'm here. With you. It's - very surreal." Beth studied his face, examining every wrinkle that hadn't been there when they were young. His eyes were bright as they ever were. He never let life get him down, and she wished she had been there to share it with him. "If wishes were broken hearts . . ." She whispered.

Al frowned slightly at her whisper, not quite hearing her word. "What was that?" he queried gently. When she didn't say anything, he exhaled. "Well... this is a lively conversation." He reached over and took a quesadilla.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, "It's just hard. But I'm glad I'm here. Even if it's been a long time, maybe . . . maybe there's a chance. Don't you think?"

Al thought about her words for a long moment. "I don't know, Beth." Seeing the look on her face, he backtracked quickly. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I do love you. I always have. I just... we're different now. We might not be as... compatible as we are hoping." He gave her a little smile. "We have a lot to learn about each other before we take that step."

Beth swallowed. "We were friends before we were married. I was hoping we could be friends again." She laughed without humor, "God, I'm selfish. Too afraid to see you until I don't have anyone left. Then I'm too afraid to be alone. How silly of me to think that I could just come back and pick up all the pieces."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Back up, there!" he told her, touching her arm. "You're jumping the gun again, darling. I mean... Beth, neither of us have seen each other in thirty years and you're letting your overromantic nature have us practically getting married before we have even come friends again. We don't even know each other anymore, do we?" He exhaled, gently cupping her face. "Let's get to know each other again first. Then we can go into the definitions of our relationship."

Beth smiled, almost laughing in her hysteria. "I always was too much of a romantic." But then she cried again, quietly and discreetly as she leaned into Al's hand, "I just hope you can forgive me. I know there is a lot we have to talk about, but the question is - where do we go from here?"

"Well... we could just... start over," Al suggested with a smile. He extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Al Calavicci. I'm a retired Rear Admiral, upper half, United States Navy. I like watching sports, driving fast cars, and pestering my sixteen year old niece. And you are?"

Beth laughed, wrinkling up her nose and shaking Al's hand. "Hi, Al," she said, "I'm Beth." She stopped, still holding Al's hand, smiling in amusement. Her eyebrows raised and she shrugged when she said, "Beth Calavicci. I never changed my name when I remarried."

"Ah..." Al said gently, pulling his hand away and leaning towards her. "And what do you do for a living, Mrs. Calavicci?"

She smiled again. "I'm a doctor. And a captain in the Navy, Admiral, sir."

"You got your doctorate!" Al exclaimed, clearly pleased. "That's great! Haven't retired yet, eh?"

"No. I'm too stubborn to retire. I keep thinking the force still has use for an old bag like me," She grinned, "But I didn't think you'd retire either. Stubborn is something we had in common."

"Yeah, well, given the options, I thought retirement was a better option. It was either work for the government on a project or sit behind a desk. You know me. I'd rather be flying a jet than a desk." He looked at her lovingly. "And if you're an old bag, I'm the Sultan of Swing."

Beth raised an eyebrow, unable to hide her grin, "You flatter me, Admiral." She looked out around the plaza. The crowd was thinning a bit. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Sure," he told her. He then raised the quesadilla that he had put down. "After lunch." Getting a look from her, he grinned winningly. "Hey, I'm hungry!"

"You always did think with your stomach," she accused.


	13. Infection

Chapter 13 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

The afternoon waned. Al wasn't one to let an opportunity go so easily, so Beth was invited back to the Calavicci home in Stallion Springs. She followed in the rental behind Al's Testerosa. Carlie sat with her arms cross up until they parked in the driveway. Teenagers being what they are, which was selfish, she didn't like being snubbed. She settled herself in her room, however, with the door closed and her music cranked as high as she could stand it.

Beth stood in the living room, giving Al a look that said she understood what was going on. She smiled.

"How exactly is she related to you again?" she asked, slightly suspicious yet amused.

"She's my niece," Al explained again, going into the kitchen. "Want something to drink?"

"Sure, whatever you've got," she said quickly, wanting to get back to the subject of Al's niece. Beth knew Al had a bad habit of avoiding certain subjects, especially when it involved talking about himself. "So, she's your niece. But how? You don't have any siblings . . . other than Trudy." The look on her face reflected the sorrow she felt for his deep loss of his true sister. Thirty years wouldn't let her forget the important things.

Al exhaled at her persistence. That, at least, hadn't changed with Beth. She always knew when he was avoiding a subject. Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed a couple of bottles of iced tea and, going over to the couch, gave her one. "Actually, I did and didn't know it." That got a surprised look from Beth. "My mother... after she ran off, she had a daughter who in turn married and had Carlie."

Understanding dawned on her and she nodded. "I see. So - she was your half sister? What happened there? I mean, why is she with you - other than the fact that you're probably the best father figure on the planet." She flashed him a familiar grin.

"Please," Al commented with sarcasm. "I sometimes get the idea that the only reason she's even around me is because she doesn't know where else to go."

"She seems to like you," Beth reasoned, "And I know for a fact that you're crazy about her. I bet she's jealous."

"Jealous? Why would she be jealous?" Al questioned with a frown.

Beth raised an eyebrow, clearly playful but with a hint of sincerity, "I'm invading her territory. You're probably the only one who gives her the attention that she so desperately needs. Being a teenager's tough. She likes your attention and I'm taking it away."

"Not anymore than anyone else visiting the house," he countered her. "It's not like we're hermits or anything."

Beth laughed, shaking her head, "MIT, astronaut, and retired Admiral, and you can still be as dense as lead."

"Hey, I resent that!" Al feigned, sitting up straight and getting another laugh from her. He smiled. He loved her laugh. Always had.

"It's okay," she laughed, trying to be reassuring, "Lead has its uses." When the laughter dissipated, she took a sip of her iced tea, thinking. "Have I told you . . . that I missed you?"

"A few times in the last few hours," Al grinned at her. "If that's all we have to say to each other, this is going to be a short conversation."

Beth laughed again, "It's so weird. You'd think I'd have more to talk about what happened within the last thirty years but my mind refuses to conjure up a single memory. Other than working in Naval hospitals and getting my doctorate . . . then I was transfered to New Mexico."

"Ah, the life of a woman on the run," he commented with a grin.

"Or a woman with nothing to live for," she said sadly. Briefly, she debated whether or not to elaborate. She decided there wasn't a better time than the present. "I never married after Dirk, honey. I felt too ashamed. So - I did what anyone else would have done, I guess. I worked. I don't have children. I just . . . worked. In a way, I lived vicariously through my patients. When a new patient came in, it was like a breath of life and a way to start over when they recovered."

Al sighed. "There's nothing wrong with not remarrying, Beth. Trust me. Sometimes remarrying is the biggest mistake you can ever make." Getting a look of confusion from her, he sighed again. "I've had... four others. None of them worked out."

It was hard to hear. A knot twisted in her stomach. They didn't work out, and Beth knew why. "I'm sorry they didn't work out for you, Al," she said, touching his hand gently, "You're a good man. And I think you need to know that."

Al smiled gently at her, covering her hand with his. "Thanks." An awkward silence ran between them as they both stuck with their own thoughts for a long time. Al finally took a drink of his tea but found that that perhaps wasn't such a good idea when a shooting pain seared his back. There was no preventing him from dropping the bottle in his hand, spilling the contents over his carpet. As desperately as he tried to hide the pain, he knew it was written clearly on his face.

Concern for him consumed her then, before she had a chance to revert back to being a doctor. "Al! Honey, what's wrong?" She asked, moving close to him and touching his arm. Seeing how his back seized and the expression of pain on his face, she concluded, "Your back. Isn't it?"

The only thing that Al could do was nod ever so slightly to her words, gulping in air to keep himself from screaming. It wouldn't do to panic Carlie with screams. When he was finally able to speak, he swallowed tightly. "It comes and goes every now and then." The tone said much more than that, however.

"Alright, flyboy," said Beth, taking command of the situation like the doctor she was, "I'm going to help you whether you like it or not. You need to lay down and after that, I'll let you decide if you want me to examine you. Deal?"

"Doctors..." Al grumbled with a wince. "First Sam, now you... It'll go away in a minute." But the brief cry of pain said otherwise. "I liked you better when you were a nurse," he protested.

Beth tried to be as polite as possible. "I know I'm a guest in your home. And that I practically come out of thin air after so long. But I am what I am, to make a horrible reference to Popeye. I'm a doctor and you're in pain, and these are special circumstances."

He raised his eyes and looked at Beth, wanting to say something. What he got instead was proof that his pain was showing in his eyes more than he wanted. Without another word, Beth stood up, repositioned his chair and moved him with experienced ease onto the couch, laying him flat. Just being moved made Al grit his teeth against the pain.

Beth took a moment to try to soothe him, understand that that was most important. She rubbed her hand on his chest and he lay on his back. With her other hand, she smoothed his dark curls. She was smiling slightly. These were times when she worked the best - in soothing someone's pain, physical or emotional.

"Shh," she whispered, "Try to relax."

Gradually, Al found his eyes closing and his breathing becoming more rhythmic. He didn't know how but Beth had always had the ability to calm him even under the worst of circumstances. While his back still hurt, the agony was gone, leaving him feeling worn out. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Here I invite you over and you wind up working."

"I wouldn't be a doctor if I didn't like what I do for a living," she said simply. Then she did something that was unconscious, driven purely by emotion and memory of habit. She leaned forward and kissed him. The moment their lips met, she pulled back, nearly horrified. With a gasp, she said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."

"Shouldn't have what?" Al whispered. He gave her a gentle smile. "It was nice. I haven't had a good kiss in a long time, Dr. Calavicci." He started to raise his hand but winced slightly at the pull it caused on his back and lowered it again. "Maybe you should take a look see."

"Good idea," Beth appreciate the change in subject, jumping back into her medical doctorate. They managed to turn Al onto his side, despite the pain it caused him. Gently, she lifted the shirt in the back. There were scars, and they were old. The newest looking scar weren't like the others, which were long ridged gashes. The new scar looked like an explosion of skin along the ridge of the vertebrae.

She licked her lips, feeling her heart pound in her chest at the sight of so many nasty scars. For the moment, she forced herself to ignore her uneasiness. "You were shot." She touched the round patch of tissue, "Here."

"If you say so. I can't feel a thing," Al told her. "At least, not there."

Beth carefully explored the area with her fingertips. "Was the bullet casing removed?" She asked, noticing an odd protrusion. It was very, very slight. It could have been a misshapen vertebrae that just healed oddly - or a number of other things.

"I think so," he murmured. "To tell you the truth, I didn't really care too much what they did at the time as long as I survived it."

Beth had to smile. "Same old Bingo." She touched a place a couple inches above the old wound on his spine, expecting a reaction. When there was no reaction, she worried. "Do you feel this?" She asked, hoping her suspicions were wrong.

"No," Al told her honestly. He hesitated, thinking about the tone of her voice. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Honey, I'm sorry but," She took a moment to find the right words, soothingly running her hand along his side, "I think your paralysis is getting - higher."

Al froze at her words. "Th... That's impossible," he whispered.

"Well, no, it's not," and the moment she said the words, she regretted them. The poor man had suffered far too much, more than any human should have to suffer. The last thing he needed was more bad news. The truth was out. He needed an explanation. "Not if there's an infection. Your spinal cord is probably shutting down, slowly, but steadily."

"What does that mean for me?" he asked in a low voice. He didn't want to think what the answer could be.

"It means that if it's not taken care of soon, then the infection will get worse. The spinal cord is connected to the brain. You could die," She carefully turned him onto his back again, rubbing his tummy, "But you're lucky the break is low. The infection can be treated. Your cord will have to be cut above it though."

"How high?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure, honey," said Beth hastily, "The longer you wait, the higher it'll be. You should be in a hospital. I can make a few calls . . ." She reached for her cell phone in her purse.

Al reached out and grabbed her hand. "No hospital," he growled with a glare.

Beth gave him a look of extreme sarcasm, stemmed mostly from frustration and an increasing desire to alleviate his pain. "What do you want me to do? Operate in your kitchen?" She left the cell phone for now, but bore her gaze into Al's, "You will die. You have a niece to take care of. Think about that. Okay?"

Al exhaled loudly. "Just how high is it right now?" he demanded, not removing his hand

"You want the technical answer or the layman version?" Beth asked, frustrated.

"English version, if you don't mind," Al groused.

"The wound is in your lower back," Beth began, "It's already moved up to close to the middle of your back. Base of the thoracic, in case you were interested. And the more you wait, the more function you lose." She took a breath, trying to be reasonable and understanding, "Al. Please. If not for yourself, then for Carlie."

He swallowed tightly, closing his eyes. "I need to talk to her first," he whispered after a moment.

"Okay. Do you want me here or should I leave you two alone for a bit?"

"Better leave us alone," he told her somberly. "This is a family concern."

The mention of family, and the meaning of it that excluded her, made Beth cringe inwardly. She couldn't let it show, so she nodded and knocked on Carlie's door. The teen, who had been happily preoccupied with playing on her computer and blasting music, was somberly brought to her uncle laying on the couch.

"I have my phone. You have my number now. Call later, okay?" Beth let herself out the front door, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence in the living room. Carlie stood before her prone uncle, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?" she asked with more concern than she wanted to let on.

Al exhaled slowly, not looking at her for a long moment. "Baby, I think you should sit."

Carlie hesitated at first. She looked around. The closest seat was Al's wheelchair, so she sat in it and leaned in close to him. "It's bad," she started, "You telling me to sit down - it's always bad news. And this time it's really bad. Whatever it is, don't hold back, okay?"

Al looked at her with affection. Gawd, she is like me, isn't she, he thought for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Yeah. It's bad. I had a ghost pain." He saw the concerned look on her face and reached to take her hand. "Beth checked me out and... well, it's probably an infection. But... I'm getting worse."

Her voice was mechanical at that point, her eyes glued on her hands. "How worse? What's worse mean? Are you gonna die or something?"

"I could," he told her plainly, getting a shocked reaction. "My paralysis is going up my spine."

"Worse," Carlie nodded, her lips pursed. She didn't have a reaction for the news other than blank shock. "So you could die. How do you not die?"

"Surgery," he told her. "Cutting my spinal cord above the infection. I'll be more paralyzed than I am now."

"So how much of a difference will it make? You already can't walk. What, you can't walk more than you can now?" She shrugged, trying to play down the news to keep her emotions in check. There was already a horribly deep pit forming in her chest that she decided she really didn't like.

Al couldn't look at her, seeing things in her eyes that he knew she didn't want to admit to. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know what kind of a difference it will make. All I do know is that I'll be more helpless than ever." He cringed internally at that thought.

At that point, she really couldn't help it anymore. The tears slid down her cheeks. Her heart was beating so hard, it hurt her chest. Her breath shook. "Why?"

Al's heart broke seeing those tears. He opened his arms to her. "Come 'ere," he whispered to her and then wrapped his arms around her, brushing her hair. "I don't know the answer to that question, honey. But, it does mean I'll have to be in the hospital for a little while."

"Don't die," She demanded bitterly, wiping at her tears in vain, "Don't you dare die."

"I don't intend to," he said gently. "At least, not until I'm old and gray."

Carlie smirked through her tears, "You're already kinda old and grayish, you know."

"Not old or gray enough, kiddo," Al teased back. "I've still got brown in my hair and I'm not a prune yet."

Feeling that it was the right moment, Carlie gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I like you this way. Even if you were old and gray, I still like you this way. 'Cause you'll always be the same to me."

"Thanks," he said with a smile. Hesitating for only a moment, he made a decision. "I should go to the hospital now. Make sure that it doesn't get any worse than it already is." He looked towards the door. "And I believe my ex-wife is waiting in the car. She said for me to call her but... she's just outside."

She hated asking but, "Do you need help? Should I go with you?"

He looked at her lovingly. "Do you want to go with me?" he asked her gently.

Silently, she nodded.

He gently rubbed her cheek. "Go get Beth back in here and let's blow this house."

Trying to smile and be brave, the teen did as she was told. With Beth's help, Al was transfered into his chair, into the car, and driven to the hospital in Alamogordo. Beth had already called in advance, using some military clout to schedule an immediate appointment with a civilian surgeon. She was put through to the only one who could schedule a surgery the next day.

There were more tests run on him than Al cared to admit to in the first day. Mainly an MRI and blood work that confirmed infection. Dr. Mallory at Alamogordo Hospital was able to squeeze the Admiral in for surgery in the afternoon, the next day. The spinal cord was cut in the thoracic region and some of the trunk muscles Al was used to having were now gone.

Carlie was by his side in the evening, as was Beth.


	14. Inevitable

Chapter 14 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

The surgery, for all intents and purposes, was successful. There were, however, unforeseen complications. They were terribly frightening, to the Admiral but mostly to his niece. The first time he woke up, he couldn't move his arms. The worst was assumed, that Al had lost use of his arms as well. Hysterical with rage, Carlie had to be removed from the room. Then it was Al's turn to be rageful.

The interns, doctors and surgeons couldn't explain the complication. Other than it was assumed that the infection had set in higher than expected. Though rehabilitation allowed Al to regain some use, his paralysis was still higher than what he was used to. He had to learn how to balance all over again.

Beth, in the meantime, reported to her station. Her new position was actually intended to be Project Quantum Leap, explaining why she was in New Mexico and why she contacted Al. It was a surprise to see his name on her contact regiment upon arrival to the desert, and she nearly reconsidered the position. Seeing that Al was in need of medical attention, and having had the chance to catch up with her estranged husband, she stayed.

While Al went through rehabilitation for the second time in his life, it was necessary to hook a temporary Observer to Ziggy. Al could just imagine what kind of concern Sam was feeling for him. He desperately wanted to get back to his normal job - if you could call observing for a time traveling physicist normal. It was several weeks before Al returned to Quantum Leap.

"What have we got, Gooshie?" Al asked as he entered the Control Room, ready to get on with his life. Okay, so it was harder to get around but he still managed to be able to do it without assistance and without a motorized wheelchair. He just wished that his hands wouldn't go numb on him every once in a while.

The nervous little programmer looked up from the various blinking lights of the console, startled to hear the Admiral's gruff voice. He hadn't really prepared a report for him, but spit out a briefing, "It's really rather remarkable! He's leaped twice since you were away. I managed to assist with those assignments," he added proudly. Gaining a scowl from the older man, he stumbled to continue, "He seems to be leaping closer."

"So... where is he now?" Al asked with a frown. He wasn't much in the mood to pull information out of Gooshie or Ziggy as if he were pulling teeth from a dragon's mouth.

"May 13th, 1996," said Gooshie, "He's in a suburb in Southern California. He's a teenager." The halitosis-plagued man timidly turned his gaze to the Admiral, "Should I charge a handlink for you, sir?"

Al lowered his eyelids. "If you would," he said sarcastically. "I didn't come down here for a stroll."

Gooshe touched a code to the console, ejecting a fresh handlink and handing it to Al. "Don't you mean 'roll', sir?" he asked nervously.

Al snatched the handlink from Gooshie's hands, his scowl growing harsher. Semantics! He needed to check on Sam and Gooshie was talking semantics! "Just get me a lock on Sam. Now." His tone reflected his mood, which was disagreeable at the very least.

Al found Sam in the middle of a high school quad. All over the school yard, teenagers with varying degrees of raging hormones were indulging in lunch within small huddled groups. Sam, thankfully, leaped into a loner. Or maybe he ditched the host's friends to be alone. Either way, the physicist was glad to see his friend alive, even if there was an underlying sadness in his gaze on the wheelchair.

Sam quickly stuffed the sandwich he was in the middle of eating back into a brown bag. He the motioned for Al to follow him into the library, where they could talk in the back. Safe within the farthest bookshelves, Sam finally said, "I'm so glad to see you." It was a far cry from his usual 'Where the hell have you been?'

The angry mood Al was in melted away with Sam's words. "Missed me, huh?" he teased. "Figured I'd check and see how you were doing, give you the lowdown, et cetera, et cetera." Concentrating, he turned the handlink so that he could read it and punched a few buttons. As he did so, a small clique of girls walked by. Al's eyes followed.

Sam barely even noticed his friend's antics to down play his serious condition. The doctor's eyes were misting quickly. He knelt to be eye level with him to say, "I've been so worried, Al. They told me about what happened to you. I wish I could be there with you."

"Ah, crap," Al growled at Sam's words. "I tell them to keep you out of it and Gooshie spills the beans." He looked at Sam's concerned face. "I'm fine, Sam. Really. It's minor."

"No," Sam insisted quietly, remembering that he could be heard if he was too loud. His jaw was clenched as he tried to control his emotions. He was always more liberal in sharing his feelings than his older friend was. "No, it's not minor. It should have never happened. So many things should have never happened. You shouldn't have to be in that chair."

"We went over this, Sam. Enough. I don't want to hear another word. You understand? Let's just get through this leap." Al focused on the handlink, raising a hand to push a button and watched for a moment as it shook violently. Clasping it into a fist, he put it in his lap.

What could Sam do except stare in pity and guilt? It was nerve damage to the spinal cord, probably the infection he had been informed of. For all he knew, his friend could still die. There was little time to waste, even though he wished he could comfort his friend. "It's okay, Al," Sam said quietly, "It's 1996. End of the school year. The kid I leaped into, Brian McLaughlin, he's bright - but failing. All I need to do is pass his finals."

"But that would be cheating, Sam," Al pointed out to him. "Aren't you the one who's Mister Honest?" Using just one hand, he pressed a couple of buttons and frowned at what he was reading. "Actually, it looks like you're here for one of Brian's classmates, Rick Preston. He drops out of school and spends the rest of his life going from one job to another to another to another... kid has no focus whatsoever."

"Rick Preston," Sam thought for a moment, "I met a Rick today. In Political Science. Kid was talking up a storm about politics. Didn't seem very interested in the exam though. So I'm here for him?"

"Eighty-three point six-four-two-eight-three... yada yada yada," Al told him. "Ziggy's going into the fifty-second place or something." He closed his eyes for a moment. Damn nervous system!

Watching his friend made Sam anxious. He had to ask, "I thought you had surgery to make things better, not worse. What's going on?"

"You're asking the wrong guy, pal," Al told him bluntly. "It was supposed to make it better but..." Seeing the look on Sam's face, he sighed, licking his lips. Why is it that Sam could always see past his defenses? It didn't help that he wasn't hiding the problems very well. "They had to cut my spinal cord and they cut it as high as they could to stop the infection but... I'm getting worse, Sam. And if they go any higher, they might as well just cut off my head."

"Don't say that!" Sam said, a little too sharply. He gained the attention of the librarian. Sam grabbed a book and opened it just as she came over to investigate.

"Is there a problem here, young man?" she asked stiffly. Sam stumbled nervously, looking over the book he'd randomly opened.

"No, just - you know - reading. Overzealous sometimes," He lied, giving her a small smile. Suspicious but satisfied, she warned him to keep it quiet and left. Sam stuffed the book back into the shelf, glaring at Al.

"Hey, I'm not the one talking loudly in the library, Sam," Al told him with a mischievous grin.

Sam couldn't help it. His heart was too soft, and his best friend was in serious trouble. He sank down to his knees again, wishing he could just hold the hardened man before him . . . no matter how much the older one struggled.

"Al," Sam struggled to even speak, "I don't want you to die."

"Neither do I, Sam. I'm fighting this every step of the way. All that I'm saying is that they've done everything they can do for me when it comes to surgery. The rest is up to me and the local pharmacist. And the cute brunette up in the infirmary," he said with a grin.

Sam nodded, hanging his head for a moment to hide his expression of hurt. He tried to put on a braver, lighter face for his friend and barely succeeded. "I'll talk to Rick later. I think we have another class together. I can convince him to take the PolySci exam again. Or die trying..." The words left his mouth before he even thought of them. He fell silent.

"Political Science," Al murmured with a hint of disgust. "Politicians and science don't mix," he stated emphatically. Seeing the look on Sam's face, he sighed. "Okay, if you don't stop with the sad puppy dog eyes, I'm going to personally leap back here and slap you silly."

The good doctor took a deep breath, smirking slightly and nodding. "I'll keep that in mind. You go back and get some rest. It's an easy leap, Al. Don't worry about me, okay?"

Al was silent for a long moment. "I'll stop worrying when you come back home," he told him plainly before turning and rolling out of the Imaging Chamber. The moment he was out, he gasped and swallowed, allowing some of the pain he was in to finally escape. It didn't make sense! The surgery was supposed to help him, not make him worse!

Two pairs of hands rushed over to him before he was even aware of who approached. Verbina was on one side of him, checking his pulse immediately. Beth was on the other side, who took his hand.

"How are you holding up, Al?" she asked.

As tempting as it was to lie to her, Al knew that Beth would be able to see right through his lies. If anything, she was more perceptive than Sam when it came to weeding out the proverbial bullcrap. "I'm in pain, I can't feel my arms, and I'm scared shitless," he told her bluntly. "How are you holding up?"

"I'd be a lot better if I had you in bed," Before she gave him the chance to jump on the comment, she added, "to recover." With a silent nod from Beth, Verbina left them to speak privately. Beth bent down to be eye level with Al. "I know you're scared, honey. You know that I'll be right here with you if you need anything. Head of the medical staff, remember?"

Al gave her a small smile before nodding. "Okay," he whispered. A moment later, he winced hard, unable to keep tears from trickling down his cheeks. "Get me in a bed and on something for the pain and I'll consider giving you a raise."

Quick judgment suggested she moved now. She pushed the ailing Admiral out of the Control Room and back to his quarters. "Thanks, but that won't be necessary." After getting him into his bed, he seemed to relax a little more. This time, Beth was the one that was tense. She said nothing, sitting next to him and checking his heart rate before fingering his short curls.

Even though the pain lessened, the lack of feeling in his arms didn't. That, in itself, told him what he'd been fighting against since he got back from the hospital. He couldn't deny it anymore. "I'm going to die, Beth," he whispered, swallowing."They've already done everything they can for me and... God, I don't want to leave her alone. She's too young still. I don't want to lose you. I just got you back."

"Don't talk like that, honey," Beth barely managed to speak. The words were hard to hear. The truth was hard to hear. All the strength she had, the confidence of a doctor and Naval Captain, was thrown out the window. She crumbled into tears. "Don't talk like that." It was overpowering, the grief. Beth slowly sank down to lay next to Al, holding him gently and stroking his hair. "I won't let you die. I won't."

Al closed his eyes, feeling her hand in his hair. "I don't think either of us have a choice on this one, honey," he told her somberly. "I can't win this one. I've tried and..." He stopped when he heard her shushing him. He turned his head and tucked it under her chin. "Promise me?" he asked gently.

Beth pressed her face into his shoulder, trying to calm her sobbing. "No," she said, her heart torn open in anguish, "No, I won't promise you anything. I can't. Don't make me promise you something that I don't want to promise. Oh, god, please . . ."

"Beth..." he said gently. "I need to say these things while I can. I need your promises while I'm still here. I'm not leaving yet but... it's going to happen. Now, promise me," he pressed gently. "Don't argue with me. I'm too damned tired for that."

"Fine, okay," she swallowed, taking a deep breath and pulling back just enough to look Al in the eyes. His eyes were always so beautiful, so pure and true. The thought of them closing forever was beyond the capacities of her heart, and it broke. "What do I promise?"

"That you'll watch after Carlie," he told her. "She's going to be alone, Beth. She needs someone to take care of her. Promise?"

There were legal matters to get into, issues that go beyond the simple call of love. Beth thought, and struggled with the thought. Her mind was quick, and her eyes darted as she tried desperately to focus on a way to truthfully carryout the important promise. She took a breath, bracing herself. It was the only way. "Marry me," she said.

Al smiled widely at her words. He knew the logical reasons for her question. But what he saw in her eyes told him that this was more than logistics at work. "Tell you what. You go get the judge and I'll tell Carlie the news before I take a nap."

With mixed feelings of love and sorrow, Beth agreed to make the arrangements. "How are your arms doing?" She asked before she left the Admiral alone, "Can you reach the phone?"

"They're better," he assured her. When she looked at him with questioning, he carefully moved his right arm and grasped the receiver. "See? Now, who am I calling?"

"Me. In case you need me." She bent down towards him. His eyes were so soft, despite how hard the years have made the man. His eyes could melt away fear with his gentleness. She smiled, and kissed him.

He relished her kiss with a genuine smile. "I love you. Now..." He looked up to the ceiling. "Ziggy, where's Carlie?" He knew she couldn't get into any of the key areas of the complex nor could she leave the complex without Ziggy being aware of it. Being a teenager, there were very few places she could go to keep entertained. She seemed to prefer the small library that Al insisted upon - 'for the sake of sanity' - but he'd also found her in the cafeteria or in the gym.

Ziggy answered with her usual dry and sardonic tone, "Miss Calavicci is currently located in the library, Admiral."

"Should I go get her?" Beth asked.

Al raised his eyebrows at Ziggy's words. But before he could say anything, Beth asked her question. "Umm... yeah. If you would," he replied to the question, gaining a kiss from the woman he loved. Waiting until she had left the quarters, he frowned towards the ceiling. "Ziggy, why did you refer to Carlie as 'Miss Calavicci'? Her last name is Amorello."

Ziggy sounded bored. "Her official documents list her as Carlene Isabella Amorello, mother Catherine Lee Amorello, murdered by father Vincent Douglas Amorello. . . Miss Calavicci's Quantum Leap security clearance currently lists her as Carlene Isabella Calavicci."

For a long moment, what Ziggy told him didn't make any sense. How could her clearance for Quantum Leap have a different last name than her official documents? And then... it made all the sense in the world. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry so he did both. "Thanks, Zig," he whispered. Then laying back, he waited for the teenager who was causing his current well-received emotional state.

Quietly, Carlie came into the Calavicci quarters alone. One couldn't tell what she was feeling by looking at her. She masked her emotions far too well for too long, and that moment was no different. Things were happening to her all over again, and she knew she was going to lose someone very special, very soon.

Timidly, she approached Al on the bed. "Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey," Al replied with a smile, wiping away the last of his tears. "I came across an interesting error in our databanks," he started. "Seems Ziggy has your last name listed wrong." His grin widened at her look.

"Nope," Carlie denied immediately, settling onto the bed and nesting next to her uncle, "Not true. My birth certificate has it wrong. But who can expect the United States bureaucracy to get it right anyway?"

Al reached up and rubbed her back gently, slowly. "Well, we're just going to have to fix that little error of theirs as soon as possible. Can't have official documents having your name all wrong."

"Seriously," Carlie agreed. But she knew the conversation couldn't stay this light for long. She didn't have the pleasure of being a young child, naive and ignorant of the sorrow that filled the air. Teenagers understood pain, probably better than when they turn into adults. Life is pain, she thought to herself.

"You're dying," She finally whispered.

Al exhaled slowly and then swallowed. "Yes, I am," he told her gently, wishing he didn't have to say those words. But he wasn't going to deny the inevitable. He'd fight it all the way to the very end but he knew that this was one battle he wasn't going to win. But at least he'd be going out with a fight. Almost as if changing the subject, he looked at her. "How do you feel about Beth?"

For a moment, Carlie said nothing. She finally admitted, "She's alright, I guess." She pressed face a little harder into Al's shoulder, rubbing her face on his sleeve to wipe away her tears.

"Just all right?" he asked gently, carefully putting a hand on her head. "Do you think she could possibly... be your aunt?"

It was a tough decision for her. Probably one she wasn't ready for. Bitterly she replied, "So that she can die too?" She pulled away from him, kneeling on the bed and looking away from his face. "You're gonna die. And then I get dumped with her, and she's gonna die. Just like my nana died, and my mom . . ." She struggled away from him, hysteria slowly setting in and standing her ground.

"I hate them for dying." She cried, "I hate you for dying."

Al turned his head away from her, his heart aching. What was he supposed to tell her? That he was sorry? It's not like he wanted this! That everything would be all right? How should he know when he wasn't going to be around to be there for her? As for her comment about getting dumped with Beth... and about Beth dying too... "Do you think I want this to happen?" he whispered tightly. "I'm fighting this every step of the way." He closed his eyes, biting his lip. "All I want is for you to be taken care of. For someone to be there for you. To love you... as much as I love you."

"Why can't it be you?" She sobbed, her eyes clutched closed in her agony, "You should do it. You should take care of me. No one else . . . Just you! Why can't it be you?" And she fell into him, sobbing on his chest and grasping the fabric of his shirt.

"I keep asking the same questions," he murmured, brushing her hair slowly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby. Forgive me." He didn't wipe away the tears, swallowing tightly. "Someone else will have to take care of you, baby. Beth loves you. For me... nothing is more important than for you to be cared for. I'm sorry it can't be me to take care of you."

Her breath trembled. "It's not fair. It's not."

"You're right. It's not fair. But it's what we have to work with." Taking another breath, he let it out slowly, exhausted from his sorrow. "I'm sorry." He didn't know why he couldn't stop saying those words. He knew they weren't going to help but he didn't know what else to say.

Crying took a lot of energy. By the end of the crying, Carlie was exhausted. She fell asleep after a while, her head still on Al's chest, comforted by his heartbeat. If the circumstances wouldn't let her have love, she would relish all that she could get.


	15. Dark Fate

Chapter 15 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

The wedding took place during a desert sunset. It was simple, and eloquent. Al was able to sit up through to the end, kiss his bride, and watch the sun sink beyond the New Mexico horizon. Ziggy reported that Sam leaped out of the high school student, successful, and was now in stasis. Before Sam could leap in again, Al was already transferred to a hospital.

Al, of course, fought the idea of being in a hospital. But when it became obvious that, with his body shutting down on him, he was going to need oxygen and a heart monitor as well as a staff who could be there at a moment's notice, he relented. It was four days after he was admitted that he lost complete use of his arms, making it impossible for him to even do the simplest of tasks. Laying in the hospital bed, he knew the only thing that was left was waiting.

He was resting when he sensed a presence in the room. Slowly opening his eyes, he let his head fall to the side to see who it was. He frowned. He didn't recognize the man who stood over him with a slight grin. "Who are you?" he breathed.

"An admirer," answered the man, who was scrutinizing the Admiral far too closely to be comfortable. He was suppressing his grin as he reached and took Al's hand. There was no reaction. From either men.

"You can admire me from the other side of the room, thank you very much," Al told him with a glare.

The air grew more tense when the man did not comply. He turned a leering stare towards the Admiral. "I understand that your project is in trouble. Losing an administrator that cannot readily be replaced might mean funding will be cut, and the project shut down."

Al's glare turned into a hard frown. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The man leaned in very close to Al's ear and whispered, "I'm the one who shot you in the back."

If Al weren't so helpless, he would have beaten the man there and then. But without a means to do anything, all that came from him was a startled expression. It took a good minute before he could find his voice again. "What do you want?" he asked.

The man pulled back, his smile eerily pleasant. He began to check the monitors near Al's bed, the I.V. the dripped essential fluids and medications. "Just checking up on you, Admiral," he said, "Need to make sure things are - fine. Sorry about your niece, by the way. A bit messy, I'm afraid. A mistake I don't intend to repeat."

Just the man's words were enough to penetrate even Al's distracted mind. He's a leaper. He shot me, hurt Carlie... What else has he done? Literally in an instant, he knew exactly who was showing off his peacock feathers to him. "You stay the hell away from her, Yen!" Al screamed at him, reacting to the implied threat.

"Oh," said Yen, "I know this will hurt more if I tell you right away. Your niece. Do you know what she becomes? Yes, I'm from the future. She becomes quite the meddlesome little physicist. And a naval officer. I'm sure you'd be very proud. Really a shame you won't be there to see her graduate with honors from Annapolis."

Al lowered his eyelids, clearly calmed by Yen's words. "I don't need to be there physically. I'll be with her when that happens regardless. Thanks for letting me know ahead of time so I can put it on my heavenly calendar."

Yen stifled his laughter. "You really think I'll let her get that far? The only thing you can look forward to in the after life is to greet her mangled body at the pearly gates."

"You're killing me. Isn't that enough?" Al demanded. Getting a raised eyebrow from Yen, he continued, explaining, "That last operation should have killed the infection but it didn't. What did you do? Leap into the anesthesiologist? The surgeon?"

"Giving it away would take the fun from it all," said Yen quietly, "Besides, I have a prior engagement. Your wife is lovely, by the way. My compliments to the tragic man before me."

Al's breathing became hard and furious with each threat. "Stay away from my family," he growled. "If you touch one hair on their heads..."

"Far too late for that, I'm afraid," He grinned, "Oyasuminasai, Admiral Calavicci." And as quickly as he had appeared in the darkened doorway, he was gone.

Al's breathing had gone from hard and furious to erratic in a matter of seconds. The sudden pain that filled his head made it nearly impossible to even think. The only thing that he could think were two precious words. "Beth! Carlie!" he cried out with desperation.

Carlie was the first one who came running in. She and Beth had decided to spend some quality time talking in the cafeteria while they let Al rest. Returning to the room and finding Al near hysterical was certainly not expected.

"Uncle Al! What's wrong!" She went right for a hug to try to comfort him. Beth went to his side as well, touching his head and leaning her head close.

"Oh, God, you're safe," he exhaled with a little relief. "You're still safe." He looked at Beth, tears streaming down his face. "You have to hide. You both have to hide. Change your names. Move out of town. Anything just don't let him find you."

"Al Calavicci, what the hell are you talking about?" There were several things Beth was prepared for, including Al calling out like he did. But the paranoia wasn't part of her thought process. "What's going on? Why do you want us to hide?"

Carlie busied herself with wiping away Al's tears, though she herself was crying. "Don't be scared, Uncle Al. We're okay."

He swallowed tightly, his eyes searching for a long moment before he closed them tightly. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I killed you both. He's going to kill you and I can't even protect you. What kind of a husband, and uncle, am I?"

"What's he talking about?" Asked Carlie of Beth. Her new aunt only looked at her with confusion. Slowly, a feeling of unease filled her. Al was many things, but paranoid wasn't one of them. He truly believed the words he spoke, and it sent chills down her neck.

"Al. What can we do?" Beth asked carefully, "We can't just up and leave the state."

Al turned his head into his pillow, his sorrow overwhelming him. "What am I thinking? He'll find you anyway. You can't be hermits for the rest of your lives and... if you go anywhere else, he'll find you." He turned his head and looked at his wife. "I'm sorry, Beth. You would have lived longer if I hadn't married you."

The teen had enough to deal with, losing her gentle uncle as she was. Watching him emotionally collapse wasn't something she needed to see. Beth told the girl to wait down by the rest area down the hall to watch TV. Carlie was more than glad to go.

Beth held her husband gingerly, careful of the wires and tubing. "Al, honey. You're scaring us. What's going on in that brilliant mind of yours? Why would I die?"

Al tried to control his breathing but it was only becoming more difficult with every passing moment. And the pain. God, the pain was becoming unbearable. "I don't want to die," he whispered, swallowing, terrified of leaving the only family he had to the hands of Yen. "Yen," he growled under his breath, "I'll rain down vengeance on you so hard that the devil himself will have trouble identifying you."

"Who's Yen?" Beth asked desperately, frightened beyond comprehension. Without much choice, she made Al comfortable, nestling into him and soothing him by running her fingers through his curls. "Talk to me, honey. I don't want to lose you yet. I'm selfish and scared and want as much time with my husband as I can get."

Al looked at Beth with sad eyes, tired from his struggle. "I know, darling. I know," he whispered to her. A moment later, he gasped. Seeing the look on Beth's face, he tried to tell her that he was okay... but nothing came out. Tears started to stream from his eyes. He couldn't even say good-bye!

There was nothing to prepare her for that moment. She had once considered him to be dead, lost within the jungles of Vietnam. How wrong she had been then, but the feeling of loss was the same. This time, it was different. It wasn't loss, it was losing. Right in front of Beth, Al was slowly slipping away.

She sobbed, clinging desperately to him and kissing him. She wiped away his still-flowing tears with her hand, trying to comfort him and tell him that it's alright, that she knew he wanted to say goodbye, and that she loved him more than she felt she had a right to love him.

Al never felt as scared as at that moment. "Carlie," he breathed. Without his larynx providing sound anymore, it sounded more like the wind whispering "Harley". But he knew it was enough to let his wife know that he wanted his niece here with him at this moment. He had a feeling deep in his soul that he wasn't going to live even another half an hour.

Even as he breathed the name of his beloved niece, however, the door opened and his heart stopped. After all, it hadn't been more than a half an hour since he last saw the man who came in. "Ah, Admiral," Yen greeted again. "Long time no see."

Beth gasped, startled. She turned her head to see the male nurse standing in the doorway. There was something entirely too threatening about his presence. Absently, she lay a protective hand on the top of Al's head and tried to shield him from the man's view with her body.

"What do you want? I'm taking care of my husband. I told the staff to stay clear of this room." She said to him.

"Mrs. Calavicci," Yen said gently, walking to her with grace. He received a glare from her for his words. "Captain... let me assure you that I am only doing my job."

"And I'm doing mine," Beth said pointedly, "Please, leave us alone." Thinking that the nurse would obey the doctor's orders, she turned back to Al. The look in his eyes frightened her, seeing them so overwhelmingly full of fear. "Al, honey? What is it?"

"Run!" Al mouthed to her, hoping that she would understand her. But before Beth could even act, he watched helplessly as Yen suddenly grabbed her arm, pulled her roughly to him and covered her mouth with a cloth.

"Easy, Captain," Yen murmured to her as she struggled to get away from his tight grip. "Just breathe it in like a good little slut."

The chloroform fumes filled her lungs and burned her throat. She barely had time to struggle before the dizziness and nausea overwhelmed her. Within seconds, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she fell limply against her assailant.

Almost gingerly, Yen carefully set her in the only chair in the room before stepping out and pulling in a wheelchair. Making sure that the Admiral could see every action he was making, he lifted Beth and put her in the chair, covering her with a blanket from the neck down. Then, assured that he wasn't going to be disturbed, he walked over to the Admiral's bed and smiled down at him.

"I figured I came at the right time. Can't cry out for help? Pity. If you could, you might have spare your wife and niece a horrible existence."

Al barely had enough strength to clench his jaw in his rage, struggling to swallow. Time was precious and there was nothing he could do. His eyes held defeat before the man, the corners still releasing his sorrow as he sobbed. It was harder to breathe, harder to think, and his heart felt as if it stop from the heartbreak. He weakly shook his head before turning his gaze away from the evil man and shutting his eyes.

Yen reached over and grabbed Al's head, forcing him to look at him. "Now... I'm going to let you take this knowledge with you to the grave. Your wife and niece are now mine to do with as I please. I'm going to beat them, rape them, torture them, make them beg for mercy, make them beg me to kill them. And I might be merciful enough to kill them if I feel like it. And when I'm done with them, if they survive me, they are going to be the two most worthless human beings on the face of the Earth. People will look at them and cringe from disgust."

There was no time left to mourn. His soul was shattered from grief and guilt. His family would be tortured and killed because of him. Everyone who gets close to him eventually dies, and it's all his fault. Al's lovely Beth and perfect Carlie were to be left in the hands of the devil himself, simply because he exists.

It was harder for him to see. A curtain was filling his vision, slowly fading his surroundings. Al fought to retain consciousness, but it was too late. His head swam and swelled, and he gave into the darkness. The last sight he had was of Beth being taken to her tragic fate.


	16. The Day It Began

Chapter 16 by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

When Sam's vision cleared and the light that surrounded him dissipated, he saw that he was in an elevator. The elevator was familiar to him, and he vaguely even remember why he was in the elevator to begin with. Not bad for a start. He was alone, which made him comfortable. And he was wearing a labcoat.

Of course he was wearing a labcoat. He was heading towards the Control Room of the project . . . wasn't he?

When the door hissed open, the Control Room of Project Quantum Leap was revealed to him a myriad of blinking colored lights and a deep humming of the hybrid computer the room housed. Stepping into the room, he knew it to be very late. Without much more thought, he automatically stepped behind Ziggy's console and began to work upon its surface.

"What are you doing down here?" a voice came from under him. Looking down, Sam noticed the pair of legs sticking out from under the console. The owner of the legs pushed himself from underneath and looked up at Sam expectantly. "Well?" Al's question was hard and unfriendly.

Sam braced himself for whatever wrath his Italian friend might unleash upon him and answered, "Working. What are you doing here? Or do you have a female technician down here for company?" It seemed hardly the right thing to say, coming from a Midwestern farm boy. He'd only leaped in seconds ago and he can't remember being more angry to see Al.

"If I did, Beckett, you'd seen her and she'd be fully clothed," Al told him with a glare. "What is with you anyway? Not everything I do is related to sex and you damn well know it!"

"Sometimes I wonder," he replied, turning away and trying to focus on the data that came onscreen upon the console, "You seem to put more effort into taking a girl home than getting our funding approved. How you managed to keep this place for the five years I was gone, I'll never know."

"I'd like to see you do it," Al muttered, standing up.

Absently and without looking up, Sam said, "You mean have sex? I have. I have a son to prove it. What do you have, Al?"

Al had had enough of Sam's attitude. This was going too far. For pete's sake, he just had a bit of fun in Washington, D.C.! What the hell was wrong in that? Grabbing Sam's shirt, he forced the physicist against the closest wall. "You know, I'm tired of hearing your holier than thou attitude. You want to run this place by yourself? Want to get your own funding without my help? Be my guest. You'd be lucky if you make it six months."

"I can and I will," Sam seethed, slightly surprised by the strength the smaller man had over Sam's bulk, "Get off of me."

Al pushed him one more time before releasing his grip. "Fine," he told him. "Have it your way." He marched towards the door. "I'll place my resignation letter on your desk before tomorrow afternoon."

But this wasn't right, was it? At that moment, every fiber of Sam's being told him that not being angry at Al was against the forces of nature. He didn't really want Al to leave. He just wanted him to understand that he couldn't just go sleeping around carelessly.

"And then what, Al?" Sam asked, "Retire? Go back to drinking?"

Hearing that accusation in Sam's voice, Al turned and glowered at him. "What the hell do you care? You've had it with my little escapades, to quote you! So, now you won't have to worry about me and my escapades ever again. It's over, Sam. You're on your own. But you always preferred it that way, didn't you?"

What the hell was happening, Sam thought to himself. This all seemed so familiar to him, and something terrible was going to come of it. He wasn't home, he realized. He was in the past. This happened before . . . and something was going to happen. Why can't he stop being angry and just forgive his friend?

Sam's insides were twisted in turmoil and confusion. He tried to get a grip on what was real and what wasn't. Everything's changed now. He approached his angry friend, trying to calm his own nerves long enough to speak clearly.

"Al," he began, swallowing and clenching his teeth against another wave of anger.

"It's over, Sam!" Al proclaimed, putting more space between them. "I've had it! We stopped being friends the moment you decided you had to fix that damned Retrieval Program. It's better this way. At least my 'gallivanting ways' won't interfere this time." He walked out of the room, determined to follow through with his promise. He was going to resign, effective immediately. Sam Beckett can go and scrounge up his own funding!

"You can't just leave!" Sam called out hopelessly, childishly, "You can't . . . have to finish this! Damn it." He turned away from the door as it shut, leaving him completely alone in the control room. "What the hell is happening? What am I doing here?" He asked himself, expecting no one to answer.

"Uh... Dr. Beckett?"

Sam spun around, startled by the sound and even more surprised to see Gooshie. Handlink in hand, the redheaded programmer flickered slightly. He was a hologram.

"Gooshie! What the hell is going on?" Sam demanded, causing the nervous man to jump at his tone.

"Well... you've just leaped into yourself," Gooshie answered. Frowning for a moment, he raised the handlink and pushed a few buttons. A moment later, his image stabilized. "I'm going to have to fix that problem," he murmured. Seeing Sam look at him with a hint of frustration, he gave a slight shrug and then consulted the handlink. It's 2000 and you've leaped into Project Quantum Leap the day before Admiral Calavicci resigned."

"I hate to say it, Gooshie, but right now I couldn't care less," Sam stated plainly. He stopped then, turning away and vaguely remembering . . ."Resigned? Al never resigned. I must have changed something. He was shot before. Oh, god - and paralyzed. Gooshie, does the Admiral still get shot?"

"Sh... Shot?" Gooshie questioned with a frown. "You don't remember what happened?"

"Apparently not," Sam gave in, giving Gooshie a look that told the programmer to get on with it.

Gooshie looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Umm... Admiral Calavicci resigned literally minutes before he was found dead in the parking lot. His throat had been cut..."

There was no stopping Sam at that point. The moment he received the news, he was like a bullet train running down the halls of the complex. Nothing would stop him from catching up to Al. "Al!" He called out, looking around and finding no sign of him. He took the elevator up to Al's office, hoping to find the Admiral.

Gooshie recentered himself on Sam, finding him in the elevator. "Dr. Beckett, this doesn't happen until tomorrow afternoon..."

"What happened in the original history?" Sam demanded, ignoring Gooshie's attempt to calm him.

"Just what I said..."

"No!" Sam demanded, looking at him with a glare. "The ORIGINAL history. The one in which Al was paralyzed."

"Paralyzed?"

"Ask Ziggy!"

Gooshie hesitated but pushed the request in the handlink, frowning at the answer. "Apparently, you changed history somehow because Ziggy's saying that Admiral Calavicci was shot and paralyzed. He became a guardian to a teenager girl, remarried his first wife and then... he died of a spinal cord infection. His niece and wife were found dead, apparently beaten to death with a golf club."

"But now that doesn't happen? Is that what you're telling me? That I changed history somehow, and Al never gets shot and paralyzed, but he never gets his niece! Or Beth - God - what have I done? I have to find him." He left the office, going towards the residential quarters of the complex, "If I can just talk to him, and keep him from resigning. I have to apologize up and down for my stupidity. He shouldn't have to die, Gooshie. If anyone is responsible, it's me. Now tell me where the hell he is!"

Gooshie again consulted the handlink, trying to find the answer to his question. "He's left the complex," he finally answered. "Ziggy doesn't know where he went but she knows that he comes back around ten o'clock tomorrow and writes his resignation. After having lunch in the cafeteria, he brings his resignation to you and just leaves. We don't have any details about his murder, only that he's found fifteen minutes after he left by an MP on patrol in the parking garage."

Sam stopped, rubbing his face in frustration. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" He practically yelled at the anxious programmer, "Just wait for him to come back tomorrow! Damn it!" He spun and kicked the wall. Panting, he leaned against it, hiding his face against his arm. "Any suggestions?"

"Well... where would you look for him if he didn't want to be found?" Gooshie questioned. After six or seven leaps, he was already getting a sense of the job. "Dr. Beckett, if there was anyone who really knew the Admiral, it's you."

"I don't know, Gooshie," He started, but then it came to him, "The stars. Ten minutes away from here. That's where he'd be if he wanted to be alone, which I imagine he would. Thanks, Gooshie." And he left the flustered observer to take his jeep out into the desert - to the place he knew the ex-astronaut liked to be.

It wasn't too hard to find. Al had taken him there once before, a turn off ten miles down the highway led to the edge of a ravine. It was a spot that was far enough of away from any manmade lights that brought the stars out to the fullest brightness. He slowly brought his jeep up behind Al's Testerosa, turning off the lights and waiting a moment before stepping out of the vehicle.

Cautiously, he slowly approached the driver's side of the red Testerosa. The sun roof was retracted and he saw Al laying back in the driver's seat with an oldies station playing softly. At first, he said nothing, knowing Al must have seen his lights.

Al had seen the lights first. Then heard the footsteps on the hard desert surface. But he didn't move, his attention focused on one particular star as he lay in his car, his feet on the steering wheel. "What do you want?" he asked in a harsh tone, not looking at the figure that stood by his open car window.

Sam had long since cooled off his anger. Knowing what he knew, he couldn't let his friend die for something so petty. In fact, he had a lot of apologizing to do. "I just want to talk," he started, stuffing his hands in his pockets and feeling rather sheepish all of a sudden, "I wouldn't have come all the way out here just to fight again. Please, Al. Hear me out?"

Al exhaled slowly at his words. "Step back," he ordered. Getting compliance, he opened the door, swung his legs out and stood up. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the front of the car and carefully laid on the hood. "If you're gonna talk, I might as well have a better view of the sky."

Sam moved around the Testerosa, on the other side and sitting on the bumper. He, too, looked up at the sky, thinking of how to start this painful conversation. Best to start with the basics, Sam figured, "I'm sorry, Al. I've been a real jerk to you. I don't even think saying I'm sorry is enough for the way I've been acting."

"I'm sorry too," Al replied after a long moment. "But this isn't the first time you've been a jerk to me. Maybe I'm just tired of accusations of being irresponsible when I have time and time again risked my career to save your dreams."

"I know," said the younger man softly, "I'm selfish. And sometimes I think I'm better than others just because I think I have higher standards. You're a good person, Al, and I don't want to lose you. Especially not because of my own stupidity. I worked too hard to earn your friendship in the first place."

"Well..." Al exhaled slowly. "You get two hard-headed intelligent people in the same room day in and day out and eventually they're going to butt heads every once in a while. I just can't believe that you would ever think that I would put hedonistic pleasures over you." He sat up slowly. "Maybe I do like the affections of women a little too much but I would never let them get in the way of my responsibilities to you, both as the Project Director and as my friend."

Smiling inwardly, he turned his gaze to his friend who joined him on the bumper. "I know that, Al. God, I feel like an idiot . . ." There was a sound not far from them, a footstep crunching on the sand. "Did you hear that?"

Al slowly stood up, quietly shushing the scientist. Looking around, he froze at the dark shadow of a man aiming a pistol at his head. He didn't say a word, however. Sometimes silence brought out more information than suddenly asking questions.

The man was dressed in a uniform, as an MP. Sam even recognized him, and didn't have the good sense to be quiet. "Al, that's the guy who shot you." He said quietly. The MP turned his aim toward the physicist, and slowly grinned.

"What the hell do you mean, 'shot me'?" Al whispered, his heart pounding. He swallowed, just watching the MP in front of him.

The MP fired a shot into the air, making both men jump. One shot gone, he had 9 more in the clip of his .45. Plenty to kill both men. "I didn't think you'd recognize me, Dr. Beckett. I suppose it makes it more interesting this way," said the MP, taking careful aim of the gun to Sam's head.

"Hold it," Al said in a calm tone, even though his mind was anything but calm. "Let's talk about what's on your mind. Okay? I'm sure that whatever is bothering you can be resolved in a peaceful manner." He hoped he was making a difference. He certainly didn't want to see Sam's brains decorating his Testarosa.

"What's on my mind?" said the MP flippantly, aiming the gun lower. He fired a shot. Sam reeled, falling to the ground and holding his bleeding leg. "That about covers it." He grinned again, aiming at Al this time.

"Sam!" Al cried out, seeing his friend fall. It was only the sound of the gun being cocked that stopped him in his tracks. He didn't say a word for a long moment, one eye on the MP and one eye on Sam. "Why?" he asked with a swallow. People didn't just shoot people without a reason!

"Why? Because I hate him. You and him both. Stealing my formulas, my work for that pathetic replica you call a computer. Those were my schematics. My ideas. The farm boy knew nothing about programming before me." The MP took aim at Sam again, while the other man struggled to catch his breath and stop the bleeding from his thigh.

"Yen?" Sam said, incredulous. He swallowed. The man had a passion for those he hated, relentless in getting revenge even back in their days at MIT, where they met.

"Very good, Dr. Beckett. You'll know the name of your murderer before you die," said Yen.

Al raised his hands, carefully stepping between Yen and Sam. "Yen... we can talk about this. You were always a really smart guy. You just want credit where credit is due. I can get that for you. I'm the one who talks to the big brass..."

"I know who you are, Admiral," said Yen defensively, threatening to fire the gun at him if he moved any closer, "The credit is mine. Or haven't you figured it out yet? I'm not really here. I'm Corporal Banes. I got what I deserved. Now it's time for both of you to get yours." He pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed by Al's head, barely missing his ear.

Al flinched at the sound of the bullet passing his ear, forcing himself not to react to the close call. "So, you leaped into Banes," Al told him. "Who are you working for, Yen?"

"You said yourself I was smart. Now why would I be dumb enough to tell you?" He cocked the gun again, "The next shot won't miss, Admiral." Yen seemed to be concentrating on Al, who was blocking Yen's view of Sam. On the ground, Sam managed to distract himself from the pain in his leg long enough to assess the situation. Al must have a gun or something, in the glove compartment - of the passenger side of his car . . . five feet away. He inched his way, stopping every so often to see if Al could still keep the madman talking.

"Well, you're going to kill me anyway, aren't you?" Al asked carefully. "Doesn't the antagonist always tell the protagonist the whole story of why they're going to die and who they work for, et cetera?" A moment later, he felt the cold steel of the barrel on his forehead. "Guess not, huh? I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this either. So why don't you shoot me and get it over with?" His words were spoken out of a mixture of frustration and trepidation. He didn't want to die, that was for certain. But he was running out of ideas on how to get out of this one.

"Unless you have a plan to stop the bullet from entering your brain, you're all out of luck," said Yen. But just then, the door to the Testerosa opened wide. It distracted him from the Admiral, shoving the man aside and firing his gun at Sam, who was shielded by the car door.

Shoved to the side, Al took the chance given him. Reaching out his legs, he entwined them with Yen's, causing him to fall to the ground. There was a hard struggle between the two men which ended with a loud bang, the sound of Yen's gun going off.

The first to move from the struggle was Yen, exhausted and filthy from the roll on the sand. He looked at Al, satisfied. But not long before he felt the barrel of another gun at his head. He frowned. Sam had gotten the gun from Al's car. The physicist breathed heavily, trying to make the decision.

"You can't kill me," said Yen cynically, sneering. Sam thought, only for a moment. This man threatened him, and his best friend, his friend's family, and his own family. After that, it wasn't a hard decision. He pulled the trigger. Sam closed his eyes at the sound of the gunshot. He hoped that was the end of the man's reign of terror.

Letting Yen fall to the ground, he went to Al, checking over him and froze at the sight of his blood at his abdomen. "No! Al, wake up. Stay with me, please," Sam pleaded, "God, not again."

Al opened his eyes slowly, looking up at his friend. He gave a weak smile, trying to hide his pain-filled eyes. "I'm not dead yet, Sammy." He cried out slightly. "Gawd, it burns like hell!"

"Can you move your legs?" Sam asked nervously, desperately, using his labcoat to staunch the bloodflow from his friend.

"I'm bleeding and you're worried about my legs?" Al questioned, crying out at the pressure Sam placed on the wound.

"Please, Al, just tell me and stop being stubborn. Can you move your legs or not?" He relieved some the pressure, realizing he might have been too eager to stop the bleeding. For the second time in his life, he had to see his friend bleed. He didn't like it - in fact, his feelings on the situation were bordering on loathe.

"I think so," he panted painfully. "I don't know. GAWD!" He pounded the ground under him. "It's hard to breathe."

Sam swallowed, trying to help his friend up onto his feet. "Come on. We have to get to the infirmary. I can't help you out here in the desert. We'll take your car. It's faster. Okay?"

"Sure," Al gasped, grabbing Sam for support. When it became obvious that Sam was having trouble getting him off the ground, Al remembered Sam's own bullet wound. "Which leg did he hit? What happened anyway?"

Sam dropped to the ground, against his will and struggling to stand. Panting, he tried again to get Al standing and into the Testerosa. "Don't worry about me, okay? It's just a flesh wound. Hurts like hell, though. Help me out, here, Al. You're not as light as you look."

"You think I'm not trying?" Al commented back with a weak smile. It took a bit of effort but, somehow, he was able to get to his feet. It was a struggle to get to the car and into the passenger's seat but, once there, Al immediately reached into the back, ignoring the agony to scavenge the first aid kit he had there. If other people saw what Al kept in the kit, they probably would wonder if he was preparing for a war.

"Here," he told Sam as the latter struggled to get into the driver's seat. He held out a large gauze pad with ties. "Get that on your leg. I've got myself covered."

Thanks to Al, both of them were able to be somewhat patched up. They were able to avoid questions from security and managed to limp down to the infirmary. There were a couple nurses on graveyard there. Sam's wound was easier than Al's. Disinfectant and a few stitches, and the wound was dressed and ready.

Al was going to have to stay in the infirmary with an IV of fluid. While the nurses called down Dr. Bryce, Sam limped in to see him. He was laying in a hospital bed, shirtless with a makeshift dressing over his abdomen. The bullet hadn't been taken out yet.

"How are you holding up, Al?" Sam asked.

"Tired," Al told him bluntly. He gave a weak laugh. "On the way here, I honestly thought I was going to die. I couldn't help laying in that reclined seat, staring at the sky moving above us and think how beautiful it was and that I was going to touch it soon." He gave Sam a smile. "Guess that isn't going to happen for a while. If Bryce can get the bullet out and if I'm not too messed up inside."

"I think - you're gonna be okay," Sam began, thinking carefully about what he was going to say next, "Besides, you have to stay alive. For Carlie's sake."

"Carlie?" Al questioned with a frown. "Who's Carlie?"

Sam smiled with the vague memory of who the girl was, remembering what a blessing she had been to Al no matter how much trouble she gave him. Sam leaned down to his friend. "She will be the best thing to ever happen to you. She's your niece. Don't ask me to explain how. But once you find her, you'll never want to let her go. Trust me."

The moment Sam explained himself, everything became clear to Al. "Ah," he said gently. He smiled up at his friend. "Thank you."

Sam nodded. "You're welcome." He touched the Admiral's shoulder before leaving the small room. His friend would live, he knew that. And he would find happiness. Looking around the main area of the infirmary, he realized he was lifting slowly - leaping. Despite the new timeline, he would still enter the accelerator in the future. For what reason, he couldn't say.

Within seconds, Sam Beckett of the future was gone, replaced by a disoriented Sam of the present, left to sit and wonder what had happened.


	17. Epilogue

Epilogue by C. Selene McBain and Kat Freymuth

Al rubbed his eyes as he walked from the Imaging Chamber. He didn't know what had gotten into Sam. First his leaping a second time after he was home for several months and now... He sighed. Now Sam was saying that God was a bartender!

"Gooshie, what the hell is wrong with that Retrieval Program? I thought you said you could fix it!" he yelled at the short red-headed man with halitosis.

"I did, Admiral," admitted the small nervous man, probably thinking that admitting to his mistake would make the punishment less painful, "I might have missed a decimal point somewhere in my calculations."

"Yeah, well, find out why the hell it won't work! Sam's lost it! I mean, he's really lost it!" Al exhaled slowly, rubbing his face again. "Just... fix it, will ya?" Walking out of the Control Room, all he could think of was the look on Sam's face, that... Al didn't know what to call it but it scared him. He HAD to get Sam out of that. He HAD to!

Going into his office, he slumped into his chair and cradled his head in his hands. He didn't even realize that he had fallen asleep until he felt someone gently shake him.

"What?" he muttered miserably. Raising his head, he blinked for a moment before seeing the woman standing beside him. "How... Beth! What... what are you doing here?" he asked with shock.

Beth was slightly older than she was the last time he saw her during Sam's 1969 leap into Jake Rawlins. She had a gentle smile on her face that had a few more wrinkles now than it did then, and her dark hair was threaded with silver. She wore a soft looking oversized sweater of a mauve tone over lavender slacks.

"Come on, Admiral," Beth laughed slightly, "You think I'd let you fall asleep here at the project. I . . ." She studied the absolute and total shock and his face and frowned. "Al, honey, don't worry. The girls are back home, sleeping safe and sound."

"G...Girls?" Al questioned for a long moment. His eyes wandered over his office. It looked different to him. There were pictures hanging on the walls. His desk actually had nick-nacks on it and... a framed picture. Reaching over, he picked up the photo and looked at it carefully. And remembered. "We took this seven years ago during Christmas," he murmured, admiring the family portrait he looked at every day.

Beth understood then what had happened. It had happened a few times before, where Al would suddenly seem like he didn't know important events or people of his current timeline. A time travel side effect, as it was described once, but one that usually caught up with the present. With that knowledge, she asked, "Do you remember their names, honey?"

Al gently touched the glass covering the precious photo. "Of course. Maxie, Sharon, Ruth and Allie. Why?"

"Just checking," said Beth, "You know how time travel affects your memory sometimes, honey. Do you remember Carlie too?"

Al shivered at the name, tears coming up. He didn't know why but he was so sad. "She's... dead," he whispered.

Beth took a deep breath, touching Al's arm gently. She had expected him not to remember her, but to hear that Carlie was dead - it frightened her. Beth was Carlie's mother, for all intents and purposes - since Carlie was five. And no mother likes to hear that their child might have been dead at one point or another, alternate history or not.

"No, honey. Carlie's very alive. She's at home right now with Allie. She's your niece, remember?"

"She's okay?" he asked, needing to know for sure. His eyes begged for Beth to give him some comfort.

"Oh, Al," Beth smiled, leaning in close and giving him a kiss on the cheek, "Maybe you should just come home to see for yourself. The break might do you good."

"Yeah." He exhaled slowly and then nodded as if he made an important decision. "Yeah, maybe I should." Slowly, he stood up and started to follow Beth out of his office. He stopped suddenly, finally realizing exactly what had happened and remembering how Beth, Maxie, Sharon, Ruth, Allie, and Carlie had come into his life. All of their daughters, except for Carlie, were Beth's and his by birth. They adopted Carlie when Beth insisted he go find any family that he come have.

What he found... sickened him. His half-sister Catherine and her husband were both into drugs and abused the little girl in their care. When he told Beth what he'd found, they both became determined to rescue Carlie from that hell. It didn't take long before he and Beth won custody for Carlie.

They adopted her shortly after that. With the new memories now firmly in place, Al whispered another thank you to his friend before reaching over and grabbing Beth's arm, pulling her over to him. Passionately, he kissed her, wrapping his arms around her.

Pleasantly surprised and very pleased, Beth indulged in the affection. Her hands found the curls at the back of his head and she took a moment to enjoy the kiss. When she pulled back, she touched noses with her husband.

"Come on. Let's go home." She said to him.


End file.
